


she could be an angel, cause she's bringing out the devil in me

by wonderstruckk



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Chloe Beale - Freeform, F/F, Preacher's Daughter AU, Slow Burn, Southern AU, beca mitchell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderstruckk/pseuds/wonderstruckk
Summary: au based on the song "devil in me" by anderson eastafter years of being estranged from her family, beca mitchell returns to her hometown in georgia after the death of her grandmother. with no plans to stay, her world is turned upside-down when she meets the preacher's daughter, chloe beale.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 149
Kudos: 422





	1. i'm as lonesome as the catacombs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i'm back with a new little project to occupy my time. inspiration always strikes whenever i need a break from creating original content so i'm back to the fanfic universe once again! i've been inspired by americana/roots/indie folk music lately, so each of these chapters will have titles corresponding with the song i've paired with the chapter.
> 
> this chapter's is "dearly departed" by shakey graves.  
> enjoy!

Beca Mitchell has never understood the appeal of small towns, something that she is reminded of as her taxi driver pulls into the driveway in front of her parents’ plantation estate. It’s been almost seven years since her last visit to Jackson, and it’s almost as though nothing has changed.

She is quick to tip the driver a generous fifty for his service; it’s not often that you come across a taxi driver willing to take you forty miles south from the heart of Atlanta to the middle-of-nowhere. He offers her a curt smile, popping open the trunk for her to grab her luggage, but drives off the minute her suitcase is in her hand, peeling off down the road. 

She studies her childhood home with watchful eyes, almost as though nothing has ever changed. The lawn is neatly trimmed, the orchard trees in the backyard in full bloom. The tall willow tree in the front lawn, still standing tall and formidable beside the bright, white Mitchell Manor.

Taking in a deep breath, she approaches the iron-clad gates, pushing them open to make way for herself. They’re expecting her; it’s not like this visit is a surprise. Tomorrow is her grandmother’s funeral. She got a phone call a week ago in the middle of the night, still drunk on whiskey and adrenaline from a gig. 

“Your grandmother just passed away,” her mother had stated in her thick Southern accent, sounding distraught. “The funeral is next week. You should come home.”

As much as she’d wanted to stay in California, she knew better than to miss out on a funeral. You can take the girl out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of a girl. Beca was raised with Southern values, after all, and her grandmother was one of the few good things about her childhood in Georgia. 

“Can I help you, baby?” an older black woman asks from the porch, dressed in a housekeeping uniform. Some things never changed. 

“I’m in town for the funeral,” Beca hears herself reply, shifting awkwardly in place. 

“You must be Rebecca,” the housekeeper states readily. “Miss. Lilith spoke fondly of you.”

She felt guilt splinter through her at the thought. Guilt and regret for not spending more time with her towards the end. 

_ Stop with those guilty feelings, _ she can hear her grandmother scold gently. _It won't do you any good and you know that._

“Why don’t I help you with that and you go tend to your folks?” the woman suggests, taking Beca’s suitcase before she can argue. “I’m sure they’ll be fixin’ to see you.”

All she can do is nod as she follows the woman through the great double doors and into the main foyer. The interior is spick and span; nothing less than she expected. With the amount of help bustling about, Beca has no doubt that her mother spends the day watching them to make sure that they keep the house nothing short of perfect like the homes on the covers of the magazines that she likes to read.

“Thank you,” she says graciously as the housekeeper heads up the left side of the grand staircase, off towards the east wing where her old bedroom used to be.

The housekeeper smiles, but doesn’t say a word, and Beca is left standing in the middle of the room, alone, wishing that she was back in California in the sanctuary of her apartment. She had hoped to never be back, after all.

Tugging her leather jacket tighter to her body, she makes her way into the sitting room. Her father is dressed in a suit, legs crossed and a cup of coffee in his hand as he flips through the morning paper. Her mother is elegantly done-up, as always, her hair curled, makeup done, wearing a big, floppy hat and sundress. Beca’s always thought her mom looked like a modern day Southern Belle.

“Rebecca,” her father says curtly, clearing his throat and looking up from the paper to great her with a tight-lipped smile. “Welcome home. I see Penny took your bags.”

She nods, filing away the name to take note; she is sure that she will see Penny more than once during her stay.

“How was your flight, dear?” her mother asks in her sickly sweet Southern drawl, looking up at her with big blue eyes. 

“It was fine,” Beca responds shortly. “I’m going to go lie down for a bit. I’m feeling jet-lagged.”

Both of her parents nod, not seemingly concerned.

“Hattie and the kids are looking forward to seeing you,” her mother says warmly.

Hattie. The perfect, doting, Southern Belle daughter. It’s been years since Beca’s seen her older sister. They never got along as children; four years apart, personalities completely different from each other. The last she’d heard, Hattie had married a rich man with Southern values, and two kids. She’d been invited to the wedding six years ago, but ended up not attending, opting to stay in California.

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow,” Beca says awkwardly, turning around to head back towards the grand staircase.

“We’ve missed you, Rebecca,” her father says, catching her midstep. “Dinner will be at five. I hope that you join us.”

Only once she’s reached the safety of her childhood bedroom, does she allow herself to relax. Nothing has changed since she’s last been here, back when she was a carefree seventeen year old, dreaming of the day that she was going to leave behind the suffocating feeling of parental expectations. She can sense their disappointment from miles away; she is not the daughter that they asked for. She is no Hattie.

She smiles fondly as she glances around her room at the fading posters of rock musicians that she grew up idolizing, remembering afternoons spent playing guitar on her bed and singing with Beau. 

_ Beau. _

It’s been almost eight years now, since his funeral, she is reminded. A picture of them together, a couple weeks before the fatal motorcycle accident that claimed his life, sits on her nightstand by the bed. A year apart, they had been close. They could’ve been twins with their father’s dark hair and their mother’s round, blue eyes and dimples.

Sometimes, she forgets about those days. The good old days. They had had such big plans for the future. He had taught her to love music, back when they had been children. They would sing until their throats were raw (or their mother hollered at them to quiet down), play until their fingers were numb and calloused. Back before things had been so complicated.

She set the picture back down on the nightstand, setting her suitcase at the foot of her bed. There was no sense in unpacking; she had a flight booked back to California in two days. Stifling a yawn, she crawled into the bed that she’d slept in as a young girl, pulling the covers tight over herself, and drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Dinner is a formal affair. It always has been. If there's one thing that she learned from growing up in the South, it's that family dinner was the most important part of the day. For as long as she can remember, everyone arrived at dinner at five o'clock sharp, cleaned up from the long day's work. It was five minutes 'til when she arrived, not surprised to see her father seated in his chair at the head of the table, and her mother across from him at the opposite end.

"How was your nap, dear?" her mother asks politely, quietly thanking the helper that had refilled her glass with more sweet tea. 

"Pleasant," Beca replies, pursing her lips as she reaches for the tea pitcher in the middle of the table to pour tea.

"Lucille could've gotten that for you, dear," her mother remarks, unimpressed. "That's what she's here for, you know."

"I'm perfectly capable of pouring my own drinks," Beca insists. "I'm twenty-five, not a toddler."

Her mother opens her mouth to make an irritated remark, but closes it, deciding that it's not worth the argument. 

"The viewing is at the church tomorrow morning from ten to eleven-thirty," her father says, breaking the tension between mother and daughter. "It would be nice of you to join us."

 _You have no option but to attend,_ is what Beca hears instead.

"What time is the service?" she asks with a frown. 

"The service starts promptly at noon," comes his even-toned response. "And then, people are coming over to the house afterwards. Mama was popular in town."

Beca smiles fondly at the memory of her grandmother. Lilith Mitchell had always been social and outgoing, even in her older years. She'd been a busy lady; the head of several committees of other rich, white ladies. Despite not visiting Jackson after skipping town, Beca made a point to phone her every other week, and occasionally write. Lilith had always been a fan of handwritten letters; she had taught the three of them how to write in cursive the minute they could hold a pencil between their two fingers.

"Of course," she says. "I'm sure Reverend Wilkins will provide a good service."

"Reverend Wilkins passed away a few years ago, dear," her mother says with that faux-sympathetic tone that Beca despises. "Reverend Jack does a wonderful job, though. Your grandmother was fond of him; he would come to visit her every Sunday for tea. I should hope you'll like him."

Beca frowns, but doesn't say anything. She knows better than to say anything at the dinner table; it's easier to get through dinner without starting a verbal beat-down with her parents. 

"Is there anything else I should know before tomorrow?" she asks, taking a sip of her sweet tea. "Just so I don't make a fool of myself."

"You'll be meeting Hattie and her family," her mother gushes, eyes lighting up with adoration. It is no secret that Hattie is her favorite. "She has two little ones, Harper and Harrison Jr. They're sweet as can be, the two of them. You'll take a liking to them."

 _I've never liked kids, why would I start now?_ Beca thinks dryly to herself.

"The Posens are a nice family," her father remarks thoughtfully from the other end of the table. "Harrison has a sister your age, Rebecca. Perhaps you'll get along with her."

She nods politely in acknowledgement.

"You'll meet WillaJean and Jefferson, too," her mother adds. "You'll do good to be polite to them. Jefferson is the new mayor and he holds a lot of sway with the town. You didn't exactly leave Jackson behind on good terms."

She bites her lower lip to restrain herself from making a smart remark. She's surprised that her mother brought up her exit from Jackson at all, but then again, Lottie Mitchell has always been passive-aggressive. 

"I'll do my best," she decides to say, exhaling and leaning back in her chair. 

"What the hell are they doing in the kitchen?" her father grumbles under his breath. "It's almost five-twenty and I'm starving."

"Lucille!" her mother hollers loudly in her shrill voice, and Lucille comes scurrying into the room, eyes wide with fear. Beca can't help but pity her. Her mother isn't exactly the easiest person to please. "What's taking so long?"

"It'll be just a few more minutes, Miss. Lottie," Lucille stammers nervously. 

"I'll be counting down the seconds," her mother replies dryly over her shoulder as Lucille scampers back towards the kitchen.

"Jesus, Mom," Beca remarks in awe. "She's a human being. You don't have to treat them like that, you know."

"They're the help, Rebecca. It's their _job_ ," her mother scolds. "Going west has turned you soft."

"If learning human decency is turning soft, then I suppose it has," she replies snappily. 

As promised, a few minutes later, Lucille and Penny, the helper from earlier, come into the dining room wheeling a cart of food, gingerly setting it down on the table and backing into the corner, hands folded at their fronts as though waiting for further instruction.

"You may go now," her mother barks, waving them off. They are quick to leave the room, avoiding eye contact with the three Mitchells sitting at the table.

"What happened to Helena?" Beca presses, noticing the absence of the familiar face that had mothered her from birth to her leaving Jackson.

"We let her go after you left," her father replies as he's piling food on his plate. "No sense in keeping her around when there were no children to look after. Besides, she was getting too old and docile. Wasn't much use to us anymore."

"She raised all three of your children!" Beca insists, suddenly indignant. "How could you just turn her away like that? She has a family to support!"

"Dear, she was getting too old to be much use," her mother insists in a weak attempt to calm her down. 

"You couldn't have kept her around to help with Grandmother or with Hattie's kids?" 

"Enough of this arguing, please, Rebecca," her father says sternly. "Can we please just enjoy a nice family dinner?"

Beca purses her lips, but says nothing more. Instead, she stuffs an angry forkful of food into her mouth. The rest of the meal is spent in uncomfortable silence, with occasional small talk exchanged between both of her parents. She is quick to finish, standing up, pushing her chair in, and taking it out to kitchen. 

"You didn't have to do that, baby," Penny says as she washes the food remnants off of her plate in the sink. 

"Do what?" Beca asks, pretending not to know what the older woman is talking about. 

"You know what," Penny replies pointedly, shaking her head. "They're really not bad people, y'know."

"They could be nicer, though," Beca shoots back.

Penny doesn't reply. Instead, she purses her lips and returns to the crossword puzzle that she's doing at the small kitchen table. Beca opens her mouth to say something, but instead closes it, deciding that it's better just to leave the conversation at that. She decides to venture out into the orchard for the evening; it's early summertime, after all and the peach trees will be ripe with fruit. Nothing tastes sweeter than Georgia peaches, especially the ones from the family orchard.

It's quiet outside. There is a faint hum of crickets chirping as the sun begins to set, the sky turning beautiful hues of pink and orange. She smiles as she walks through the neat aisles of trees, remembering her childhood. She can almost feel Beau close behind her, grinning with peach juice dripping down his chin as they hide from Hattie in the orchard. She can picture Helena, standing on the back porch with her hands on her hips, hollering for them at sundown to hurry back inside to get cleaned up for bed. She can picture afternoons of reading with Grandmother underneath the big willow tree on sunny July afternoons and playing Scrabble in the sitting room before dinner. She remembers this all so vividly, in bits and pieces, but the feeling of contentment that is attached to these memories never fades.

She has never felt at home in Jackson, not since the motorcycle accident that killed her brother. But standing in the orchard, a fuzzy peach from the Mitchell orchards pressed gingerly between the palm of her hand and her lips, brings it all back the minute the sticky, sweet fruit hits her tongue and drips down her chin. 


	2. i keep my heart locked in gold so i don't ever get hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the positive reception! It means a lot! 
> 
> This chapter is Casino (Bad Things) by Houndmouth.

Funerals aren’t really her scene either. Though, to be quite fair, Beca doesn’t think anyone really  _ enjoys  _ funerals. After a restless night of sleep, all she wants is to get this day over with. She wears the same black dress that she wore for Beau’s funeral seven years ago, and her beloved leather jacket.

“Your grandmother would be appalled by that choice of outfit,” her mother had scolded her when she came down the stairs for breakfast.

Secretly, Beca knows that her grandmother wouldn’t give a damn. As much as her parents would hate to admit it, Lililth was always soft on Beca and her eccentricities. 

Today is stressful enough without the added family drama, Beca decides, so she doesn’t make a snarky reply, instead offering her mother a tight-lipped smile and sitting down in her place at the breakfast table.

Unlike last night’s dinner, the food is already set out in the center of the table, her father already leafing through the morning paper, sipping his cup of coffee, his plate untouched except for a small bite of his toast.

“Morning, Rebecca,” he greets her, not bothering to look up. 

She grunts in response, piling her plate with bacon and filling up her glass with orange juice. Her appetite is neither here nor there these days, but she figures that if she forces herself to eat breakfast, she’ll be fine for the rest of the day.

She can’t remember the last time that she was awake early enough to have breakfast. Late night gigs in California meant waking up at one in the afternoon, only to prepare for the same ordeal the next night.

“How’s your music thing going?” her father asks after a few minutes have passed. 

It’s not a secret that he would’ve preferred for her to settle down and get married young like Hattie did. They’d always been discouraging of her endeavors in music. They didn’t mind too much with Beau, figuring that he would outgrow it once he realized his true potential, but Beau was special. They’d coddled him; he could’ve gotten away with murder without so much as a scolding. He even had Helena, with her sassy attitude and no-nonsense work ethic, wrapped around his finger.

But he was a  _ boy _ . Of course, things were easier for him. She’d been taught from a young age that she was supposed to smile pretty and follow in the stride of a powerful man. Unsurprisingly, it hadn’t stuck; she’d been wild from a young age, much to her parents’ dismay, and her grandmother’s amusement.

“Don’t let them put you down, Beca,” Lilith had insisted many times over. “Someday, your energy and high spirits are going to take you places. You don’t belong in a place like Jackson forever.”

“Stop putting nonsense like that in her head, Mama,” her father had scolded his mother. “No young man in his right mind would want to marry someone so unhinged.”

Lilith had always rolled her eyes, and encouraged Beca to do as she pleased, so long as she was happy and wasn’t hurting anyone else. After all, she’d been a wild child once upon a time, and look how well she’d turned out.

“It’s going alright,” Beca hears herself respond nonchalantly. “We’ve had a steady stream of gigs over the past couple months, so hopefully that opens up more opportunities.”

The flat look on her father’s face as he made eye contact with her warned her not to continue speaking.

“It’s never too late to find you a suitable man, Rebecca,” her mother pipes up from her end of the table. “If you cleaned yourself up a bit more, it wouldn’t be hard for you to find a nice man to settle down with.”

“I’m not Hattie, Mom,” Beca insists with annoyance, rolling her eyes out of habit as opposed to spite. “We’ve been over this. I don’t want to get married or have kids.”

“Well, you just haven’t found the right gentleman, yet!” her mother persists stubbornly. “Take out those ear monstrosities and throw on a dress every now and again, and you might have better luck.”

Beca lets out a harsh breath, picking up her plate, still, for the most part, full, throwing away the scraps and setting it down in the sink. 

“Leave it there, baby,” Penny calls from the kitchen table, where she sat drinking coffee and doing her crosswords. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, Penny,” Beca says as nicely as she could manage, though she's still irritated. “If they ask, I’m out for a smoke.”

Before she can be scolded about the dangers of smoking, she's out the door and pacing around the orchard. She’d tried to kick her smoking habit years ago to no avail. She blamed Beau for that. 

Still fuming from the argument at breakfast, Beca's quick to light a cigarette between her lips. After a few inhales, she was soothed enough to face them again.

_ Sorry, Grandmother,  _ she apologizes, looking up towards the sky.  _ I’m trying _ .

As much as Lilith had coddled her, she’d always been quick to scold her for picking fights with her parents.

“They’re just trying to be parents,” she insisted.

“Well, they aren’t very good ones,” Beca had always argued back with annoyance.

Lilith had laughed, shaking her head as she took a drag from her cigarette.

“No, they aren’t,” she’d admitted sheepishly. “But they’re trying, so you owe them some credit. Just try, for my sake.”

As stubborn as she’d been, she’d always struggled with saying no to her grandmother. She’d promised to at least try her best, the conversation always coming to the forefront of her mind whenever her parents tried. 

Unfortunately, she’s been out of practice.

The sound of her phone quickly startles her from her thoughts, and she knows who it is before even answering.

“Yes, Legs?” 

“I love it when you call me that,” the voice on the other end remarks breathily.

“Don’t start with that right now. It’s too early,” Beca says, wrinkling her nose as she flicks the ashes off her cigarette butt. 

“How’re things in the Heartland?” the voice asks curiously, tone quickly changing. 

“Awful,” Beca remarks with annoyance. “I honestly just want this funeral to be done and over with. I loved my grandmother, but I swear if my mother tells me one more time that I just haven’t found the right man yet.”

The woman on the other end of the phone snorts with laughter, and it manages to make Beca grin a little, too.

“Sounds like a real blast. Can’t say I blame you for wanting to get the hell outta dodge. ‘Sides we’re ready for you to be back. Gigs aren’t as fun when it’s just Em and Jess up there with me.”

“I know, I know,” Beca laments, taking one last drag from her cigarette before dropping it to the ground and putting it out with her shoe. “I’m flying back in on Sunday, Stace. It’s not the end of the world. You can handle one more night; Em’s pipes should more than cover you until then.”

She pauses for a minute, glancing out at the orchard. It’s not even nine o’clock and the air is already thick with humidity; she’s positive that the heat will be insufferable before noon. 

“I’m surprised you’re not passed out right now,” she continues. “Isn’t it like five in the morning over there?”

“Almost six,” Stacie says defensively on the other end. “Which reminds me! What time am I picking you up from the airport on Sunday?”

Beca sighs.

“I don’t know off the top of my head, but I’ll text you Saturday morning,” she replies. “I’ve gotta hit the road soon. Nothing like spending the day watching other people cry over my dead grandmother, you know?”

She can almost feel Stacie’s eye roll through the phone.

“God, you’re fucking morbid. I love it.”

“You know it.”

Before Stacie can respond, she hangs up the phone, tucking away the lighter and pack of cigarettes in the pocket of her leather jacket before heading back into the house.

“There you are, Rebecca!” her mother scolds the minute she enters the great room, wrinkling her nose as she goes to grip Beca’s wrist. “You smell like smoke.”

“One of the neighbors had a burn pile going,” she lies. Her mother seems to buy it. She’s not one for going outside if she doesn’t have to, after all.

“Flatter me and spray on some perfume, would you?” she says hastily, shooing Beca towards the staircase before she can argue.

She does as she’s told before running down the stairs. The drive to First Antioch Baptist Church is surprisingly shorter than she remembers; perhaps, because it felt like forever when she was younger. She’d always hated going to church, but her grandmother, with her big hat and sundress, would always sneak her candies from her purse during the service, so that had always made it worth it.

The viewing is filled with crying old ladies that Lilith had served on committees with, and friends of her parents and other people that she doesn’t recognize. She’s pulled into a million hugs (Beca is  **not** a hugger) and forced to comfort crying old lady after crying old lady before she can’t take it anymore.

“I’m going to step out for a minute,” Beca informs her dad, who grunts in acknowledgment, too occupied with one of the crying ladies, telling her some sort of story about his mother that he’s inattentively listening to.

She’s heading towards the doors of the church when she hears the shriek of a small child, and it’s like she knows what’s going to happen before it does. A tiny body collides into her leg and she lets out a grunt as she looks down at the blonde haired, blue-eyed little boy clinging to her leg for dear life.

“Harrison Junior! get your behind back here!” a voice scolds from nearby.

Beca’s eyes look up to lock with her sister’s for the first time in almost a decade. She looks just like their mother; hair and makeup done up, dressed in a modest, yet tight-fitting black dress and heels. She’s wearing the authentic pearl necklace their grandmother had given her as a gift years ago. 

“Rebecca,” Hattie says smoothly, eyeing her with disapproval. Beca waits for her to hurl an insult in her direction, but she doesn’t say anything. “I see you’ve arrived safely. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

It takes everything in her to keep from rolling her eyes, but somehow, she does it. If arguments with her mother are insufferable, then she doesn’t even have the words to explain what it’s like to get into it with Hattie.

“It’s nice to see you too,” she says, forcing a tight-lipped smile before looking down at the child, now clinging to his mother’s dress. “Mom said you had kids.”

Hattie nods, looking down to smile at Harrison Jr. before looking back up at Beca.

“Harrison and Harper are running a bit behind schedule,” she stresses. “They should be getting here any time now, though.”

“Matching names,” Beca mutters under her breath. “How cute.”

Before Hattie can make some snippy comeback, a tall, blonde man in a suit comes through the church doors, a little blonde girl in a dress and tights resting on his hip.

“What about me, dearest?” he asks as he approaches them, pulling Hattie in for a chaste kiss before setting their daughter on the ground.

“Harrison,” Hattie says evenly, gesturing towards Beca. “This is my sister, Rebecca.”

“It’s Beca, please,” she corrects her, offering Harrison the best smile that she can muster up.

“Ah, Beca,” Harrison says, studying her curiously before holding out his hand for her to shake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. A shame that you couldn’t make it home for the wedding a few years back.”

Beca purses her lips.

“Yeah,” she lies. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence between them for a few minutes, the three adults just staring at each other as if unsure how to proceed. Social interaction has never been something that Beca excels at; she prefers to limit it to just her friends back in Los Angeles, but sometimes, there are circumstances where she has to expand her limits.

This is not one of those cases, she decides. After all, what do you say to your older sister that you’ve never gotten along with in your entire life and haven’t seen in seven years, and to the brother-in-law, niece, and nephew that you’ve never met and probably know the bare minimum about your existence? Beca’s not quite sure, and there’s definitely  _ not  _ a “For Dummies” book tailored to this experience, so she decides to leave it at that.

“I was just going to step out,” she decides on, gesturing towards the door.

Hattie doesn’t say anything, she just nods, taking the hands of both of her children and hurrying them towards the back room where the viewing is being held.

She lets out a sigh of relief once she gets to the church parking lot, immediately gravitating towards a shady spot underneath a willow tree nearby. She leans against it for support, supplying the pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lighting one with reckless abandon.

It’s silent for her first cigarette. She flicks it carelessly into the parking lot and immediately lights a second one, quickly taking a drag to ease her anxieties.

“That’s not good for you, you know?” 

The voice startles her. Partly because it’s someone she doesn’t know, partly because it belongs to someone so young. Most of the people that scold her are her parents’ age. Her eyes lock with shockingly blue ones as she takes another drag.

“Most things aren’t good for you,” Beca replies with a shrug, exhaling. “Such is life.”

Beca studies the girl curiously. She has beautiful red hair; well-paired with those eyes, and she’s dressed like Hattie. She looks about Beca’s age, so she assumes that it’s probably one of Hattie’s friends, or the daughter of someone who runs in the same circles as her parents.

“What’s your name?” the girl asks, offering her a friendly smile. 

“Who’s asking?” Beca says gruffly, putting her cigarette out on the tree before flicking it into the grass. 

“Gee, you’re real friendly,” the girl replies, but her tone is light and easygoing, and she’s still smiling. 

“So I’m told,” she says, starting back towards the church. The girl follows after her, but doesn’t say a word; she just  _ follows _ .

“Chloe!” a voice exclaims from across the parking lot. “There you are!”

Her face drops at the sound of the voice. Beca's always been proud of her good ear; it's part of what makes music so special to her, and part of what makes her a talented musician. But in this particular moment, she wishes that God had made her deaf.

“What are you doing talking to Rebecca Mitchell?” the voice scoffs disapprovingly, the woman it belongs to looking her up and down with judgmental green eyes.

“So  _ that’s  _ your name!” the redhead, Chloe, exclaims, turning towards Beca with a victorious smile, pleased that she’s finally able to place a name to the face. 

“Aubrey,” she says tightly, acknowledging the blonde who is glaring daggers at her. “So lovely to see you again.”

They both know that she’s not serious, but Aubrey knows better than to pick a fight, especially here and now of all places.

“What’re doing here?” Beca continues. “Don’t you have better things to be doing with your time?”

Aubrey purses her lips.

“If you  _ must  _ know, Rebecca,” she says matter-of-factly. “Your sister married my big brother, which makes us family.”

Beca is an angry person and she doesn’t wish death on anyone, but in this very moment, she can’t help but wish Hattie the most agonizingly painful death for marrying the brother of her least favorite person in the world. 

“Fantastic,” she grumbles under her breath, turning her attention back to Chloe. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to my dead grandmother’s wake now. I’m sure that my parents are getting irritated with my absence.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes, but Chloe shoots her an apologetic smile.

“It was nice meeting you!” Chloe calls out behind her. Beca doesn’t turn around or respond; she’s too pissed at Hattie to think of much else. Teeth clenched, she makes her way back across the parking lot.

“Stay away from her, Chloe,” she hears Aubrey from behind her. “Rebecca Mitchell is nothing but trouble. You’d do good to remember that.”

“She didn’t seem that bad to me,” comes Chloe to her defense.

“You talked to her for what, five seconds?” Aubrey presses. “I love you, Chlo, but you’re not always the best judge of character.”

Beca rolls her eyes. Seven years, and nothing has changed, not even one Aubrey Posen. 

Taking a deep breath, she wills herself to go back into the back room and get the rest of the afternoon over with. Thankfully, the funeral will be starting soon, and then she can go back to the quiet solitude of her childhood bedroom, away from all of these people. 

“There you are!” her mother exclaims, immediately spotting her as soon as she comes back into the back room. “Your sister said she saw you heading out to the parking lot.”

_ Of course she did,  _ Beca thinks to herself.

“I just needed some air,” she lies. “Not a huge fan of crowds.”

Her mother just nods, and before they can continue to make uncomfortable conversation, she’s whisked away by another middle-aged woman in a big hat and funeral dress, leaving Beca by herself in a cluster of people talking all at once.

She watches as Aubrey and Chloe come into the room, immediately greeted by Hattie and pulled off to another corner of the room. Their eyes lock for a split second before Chloe’s back is turned to her, and Beca can’t seem to shake it.

The funeral is painfully boring, and Beca feels bad for zoning out for the majority of it, but she knows that wherever her grandmother is, she doesn’t mind. When it’s finally over, people congregate towards the back of the church, heading back to their respective cars. The casket is carried off to the hearse but they remain.

She is thankful when Aubrey is among the crowd that leaves, but surprisingly, Chloe stays behind. 

“Rebecca,” her mother says, beckoning for her. “I’d like for you to meet Reverend Jack Beale and his daughter, Chloe.”

Beca’s eyes lock with Chloe’s for the third time, and she can’t help but smile when Chloe does (what can she say, the redhead’s sunny disposition is infectious).

“We’ve actually met already, Mrs. Mitchell,” Chloe says politely. 

“Oh, really?” her mother asks, surprised.

Chloe nods brightly.

“We bumped into each other in the parking lot briefly.”

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Rebecca,” the Reverend says, drawing her attention over towards him. 

Chloe resembles him with his blue eyes and gentle, yet friendly demeanor. His blonde hair is slowly starting to go silver, a testament to his age. He smiles at her politely as he holds out his hand for her to shake, which she does so politely.

“That was a lovely service,” Beca fishes, cheeks flushing a bit, but no one seems to catch on to her small fib. “I’m sure that Grandmother would’ve loved it.”

“Lilith always spoke very fondly of you, Rebecca,” Reverend Jack says warmly. "I'm sure she would be glad that you made it back home for her funeral. She was always delighted to boast about her brave granddaughter, living all the way out in California."

The guilt comes stabbing at her again, but she wishes it away, instead nodding and smiling.

“I won’t hold you folks up for the rest of the afternoon,” he says quickly, turning his attention back to her parents. “But we hope to see you on Sunday for the church service. It was nice to meet you, Rebecca.”

“Likewise,” Beca replies politely.

“We’ll see you on Sunday, Jack,” her father says gruffly, offering the Reverend a half-smile before heading down the rows of pews towards the doors, his wife following ensuite. The Reverend goes off towards the back room once more, leaving her and Chloe alone in the church.

“I didn’t peg you for the preacher’s daughter type,” Beca admits to Chloe with an amused grin.

Chloe shrugs.

“There’s not necessarily a type,” she remarks thoughtfully. “It’s the least interesting thing about me, honestly.”

“It was nice of you to defend me to Aubrey back in the parking lot,” Beca says graciously. “Though I don’t think anything you have to say will ever change her opinion on me.”

“What kind of preacher’s daughter would I be if I didn’t try my best to be kind to all of God’s children?” Chloe supplies with a smile. Beca can’t tell if she’s serious or just joking, but she nods and offers up a small smile of her own.

“I should probably be going,” she says awkwardly, heading backwards towards the church doors. “It was nice meeting you.”

“I’ll see you around,” Chloe chirps brightly.

“Yeah, something like that.”


	3. you know i am nobody's girl, just wasn't made for no diamonds or pearls

“Chloe, is that you?” 

She can’t help but smile at the sound of the voice calling to her from the other room. Chloe stands up from where she had been sitting along the bay window for barely a minute before being summoned.

“You’re wearing the new head scarf I bought you,” Chloe remarks thoughtfully as she stands in the doorway.

Her mom smiles weakly at her, nodding. She’s been suffering from a rare form of cancer for almost a year now, and by the grace of God, as her father would so kindly remark, she was still living. Regardless of her illness, Chloe has always thought that her mother is the most beautiful woman that she’s ever met.

She gets her dazzling blue eyes from her mother, and her radiant smile. The lavender colored head scarf looks beautiful on her thin face; the color draws the attention away from the dark circle underneath her mother’s eyes, and the gaunt and tired facade.

“Of course, I am,” her mother insists playfully from the bed, beckoning for Chloe to come and sit with her.

She does, of course, ever the good the daughter, and sits in the armchair beside her mother’s bed.

“How was the service this morning?” her mother asks softly.

Chloe offers up a sad smile. She had only known Lilith Mitchell since her return home following her graduation from Tulane, but in the short few months that she had known her, she had grown quite attached. 

“Daddy did a lovely job,” Chloe replies with a sad smile. “It was a lovely service.”

Her mother nods knowingly in agreement. Chloe knows that she would’ve loved to have gone; before Lilith had started hospice care in the confines of the Mitchell Manor, and before her mother’s diagnosis had become terminal, they had endured chemo treatments together. 

“I’m sure that Lilith would’ve loved it either way,” her mother reassures her. “She always did have a soft spot for your father.”

Chloe can’t help but laugh, recalling the way that Lilith had always requested for her father to come by every Sunday after the service for tea and cookies. She had been so stubborn, that it had been hard to refuse her. The Mitchells were powerful in Jackson for their wealth and their prized orchards, especially after Hattie’s marriage to Harrison Posen, the mayor’s son; her father hadn’t viewed it as an option upon their initial move to Jackson, but had grown close to the Mitchells. 

“Her granddaughter was there,” Chloe hears herself remark thoughtfully.

“Hattie?” her mother asks curiously.

Chloe shakes her head, smiling at the memory of the small brunette smoking a cigarette, leaned suavely against a tree in the parking lot of the church, almost like a scene out of a coming-of-age movie. 

“No, Rebecca, actually,” she replies matter-of-factly.

Her mother’s eyes don’t widen with surprise; Chloe’s not sure what she expected. To be fair, Chloe’s not really sure what she expected of Rebecca Mitchell either. Suffice to say, she’s heard her fair share of murmurings about the youngest Mitchell from Hattie and Aubrey. Lilith had certainly had her share of Rebecca stories, but the older woman had always had nice things to say about her youngest grandchild. 

But she hadn’t expected her to be like  _ that _ . There were no pictures of Rebecca in Mitchell Manor. Then again, the Mitchells didn’t really hang pictures of any of their children in the manor. For such wealthy people, they liked to keep their large plantation-style house impersonal and empty, like the homes on the front covers of the interior design magazines that Lottie Mitchell always seemed to be reading whenever Chloe went over to visit. 

She had pictured someone looking more like Hattie and Lottie Mitchell; blonde hair with big blue eyes and gentle features. The way that Lilith had always described her youngest granddaughter left room for imagination; she had always been described as a wild spirit with an independent mind, but still very beautiful. 

Lilith hadn’t been  _ wrong _ . 

“Rebecca is a beautiful girl,” Lilith would always say proudly with a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. “She’s just not the typical Southern belle that Lottie had in mind when she had two daughters.”

And Rebecca  _ was _ different, exceeding expectations for the girl in the stories that she hadn’t even known that she’d set to begin with. She was short and petite with skin the color of porcelain. She was fiery and witty and seemed to have a mind of her own and wore a black leather jacket over a funeral dress to a funeral service filled to the brim with some of Jackson’s most poised and proper. She was  _ Rebecca _ .

“I heard that she was back in town after all this time,” her mother responds nonchalantly, pulling her from her thoughts. “I’m sure that Lottie and Atticus are happy to have her back.”

Chloe nods in agreement, though she’s not quite sure. The way that the other Mitchells would tense at the mention of Rebecca makes her wonder. 

“I’m sure they are.”

They sit there in each other’s company for a few moments, a comfortable silence between them, until Chloe looks over to notice that her mother has drifted off to sleep. She waits a few minutes, just in case she wakes back up, and then leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind her, heading up the stairs.

She knocks lightly on the door.

“Come on in!” a voice calls out from inside the room over the faint hum of pop music playing in the background.

Chloe obliges, immediately surrounded by the smell of vanilla candles and lavender colored walls. 

“Hey, Chlo,” her sister chirps thoughtfully, looking up from the book that she’s reading.

Celia is lying on her stomach, her feet crossed at her ankles. She dog ear’s the book page that she’s on and sets her book down, drawing her complete attention to her older sister.

“Just thought I’d come and check up on you,” Chloe hums, offering her sister a gentle smile as she sits along the edge of Celia’s better. “I didn’t catch you this morning before Daddy and I went to the funeral service.”

“Annabelle and I went riding this morning,” Celia replies apologetically. “I wanted to wake you up before I left, but I know you were up late with Mama last night, so I figured I’d let you get your beauty sleep.”

Chloe offers her a grateful smile. There is a seven year age gap between the two of them, but it’s never stopped them from being close. Chloe can clearly remember the day her father took her to the hospital to meet Celia for the first time; it is one of the happiest memories that she has. 

“Are you sure you’re alright with being back home, Chlo?” Celia continues worriedly. “I know how much you loved it at Tulane and being away from Jackson. I don’t think Mama would be mad at you for leaving, you know.”

Chloe shakes her head, though her heart throbs when she thinks of the life in Louisiana that she left behind immediately after her graduation. 

“I don’t mind,” she lies, running her fingers through Celia’s long, blonde hair. “I want to be home with Mama before-” she can’t bring herself to finish the sentence, so she forces an uncomfortable smile before continuing the conversation. “I have a long lifetime ahead of me. I’m only twenty-three. I have time. She doesn’t.”

Celia doesn’t seem convinced, but she doesn’t argue any further.

“I just worry about you, is all,” the blonde girl presses.

“It’s not your job to worry,” Chloe reminds her. “I’m the grown up.”

“And I’m sixteen,” Celia retorts. “I’ll be an adult soon enough.”

“But you should enjoy being young and not having adult responsibilities while you can,” Chloe insists. “Which is why I came back home. To help take care of Mama so Daddy doesn’t have to hire outside help, and so that someone can help look after you.”

Celia purses her lips.

“I can mind myself, you know,” she grumbles. “I’m not a child.”

Chloe sighs.

“I know that, Celia,” she says frustratedly. “But Mama’s too sick to be bothered by the simple things that you do need, and Daddy’s too busy to care. Someone has to be here. I’d rather it be me.”

“Well, what about when Mama dies?” Celia challenges her. “When you leave for somewhere else, you won’t take me with you.”

“We’ve talked about this, Celia,” Chloe reminds her. “You’ll be too close to your senior year by then, and I don’t want you to relocate that close to graduation. It won’t matter after then, because then you’ll be headed off to college anyways.”

Celia opens her mouth to argue, but then closes it after a minute, sighing with defeat.

“It’s not like you can’t call or text, though,” she assures her younger sister, giving her a weak smile. “I’m always your sister. You’re always my favorite girl, ever since Mama and Daddy brought me to meet you for the first time in the hospital.”

Celia smiles at this. 

“I love you, Chlo,” she admits. “In spite of the bad circumstances, I’m glad that you’re home. I missed you while you were away.”

“I missed you too, kiddo,” Chloe replies softly. 

The sound of the doorbell ringing draws both of their attention towards the downstairs. They listen to see if someone has answered the door, but no one does so Chloe lets out a long sigh before standing up.

“We should do something fun tomorrow,” she suggests. “I feel like we haven’t had a sister’s day in awhile. We could drive to Atlanta for the weekend.”

“I would really like that,” Celia says in return. “You should probably go and answer the door, though.”

Chloe laughs and nods. 

“I probably should.”

She hurries down the stairs, quickly opening the door, her heart slightly sinking as she opens it. She isn’t sure who she expected to open the door to, but the last thing she had on her mind was seeing Tom today.

“Hey, Chlo,” he says, offering her a charming smile. 

Thomas Harrington II. One of the richest bachelors in Jackson, owner of the bank, and the son of the Governor of Georgia. Ever persistent in his pursuit to win her heart; something that has been clear to her from the minute she returned to Jackson seven months ago.

“Hey, Tom,” she replies distractedly, trying her hardest to seem interested.

It’s not that she doesn’t like Tom; it’s quite the opposite actually. He’s a nice guy who comes from a good family with nice Southern values. Her parents and Celia like him. He dresses well and brings her flowers and holds the door for her whenever they go somewhere. He’s nothing short of a proper gentleman. 

But the last thing that Chloe wants is to get engaged and start a family; something that Tom has made very clear that he’s interested in. She’s just graduated from nursing school and she wants to live somewhere exciting like New Orleans with it’s beautiful and culturally rich city and work in a hospital and help others. Not be a housewife and a mother before she’s thirty.

“How’re you doing today?” he asks her politely. “I know Lilith Mitchell’s funeral was today, and that you were fond of her.”

Chloe offers him a thoughtful smile.

“I’m alright. Thank you for stopping by to check in,” she replies with gratitude and candor. 

“I was wondering if you were free to go out for dinner,” Tom asks her, gesturing towards his car, still running in their driveway.

She’s not surprised by his offer.

“I’d love to, but I can’t,” she says apologetically, looking behind her and glancing down the hall to see if her mother’s bedroom door is cracked open; it isn’t. 

Tom frowns at this.

“Daddy’s working late tonight at the church, preparing things for Sunday’s service and cleaning things up after the funeral,” she explains. “Someone has to stay with Mama.”

While his frown disappears, she can tell that he’s still disappointed, but he nods with understanding. After all, he is a nice guy; how could he be angry with her for wanting to be with her sick mother?

“Oh, of course,” he says understandingly. “Send Ginny my best, please. Perhaps we can go out tomorrow evening?”

Though she doesn’t really want to, she nods. It’s the polite thing to do, after all.

“Pick me up at seven?” she suggests.

He nods, beaming, happy that she’s agreed to go out with him.

“I’ll see you then.”

He gives her a chaste kiss on the cheek before heading off to his car. She can’t help but smile a bit as he beeps the horn of his car twice before driving back down the street and into town. 

“Was that Tom?” her mom asks tiredly from behind her.

She turns around, shocked by the sudden intrusion, and closes the door. Her mother hobbles towards the kitchen and Chloe follows, watching as she pours herself a glass of water.

“He was just stopping by to see how I was doing,” Chloe says carelessly. 

“He’s a nice boy,” her mother remarks thoughtfully, taking a long drink of water. “He’d make a good father and husband.”

_ I’m not sure if I want that yet, though,  _ she thinks to herself.

But she knows better than to crush her mother’s hopes and dreams of seeing her daughters get married and have children. Her time is limited; she maybe has half a year left before succumbing to the cancer. Celia is too young, but Chloe knows that her mother wants nothing more than to see her walk down the aisle on her wedding day, just like she’d dreamed of doing for both of her girls when they had been little girls. Tom with his hopes of marrying her and starting a family gives her mother hope that perhaps, Chloe will be so in love that they'll be married before she dies.

She purses her lips, getting herself her own glass of water before leaning against the countertop.

“Celia and I are going to Atlanta for the day tomorrow,” she says, changing the subject. “Is there anything you’d like?”

Her mother shakes her head.

“I don’t need anything else, honey,” she responds candidly. “It’ll just get boxed away after I die, anyway. No sense in spending money on things that won’t be used for much longer.”

Chloe shakes her head with disapproval.

“Don’t talk like that, Mama,” she replies.

“It’s true,” her mother replies with a shrug. “I know you don’t want to think about it, but it’s time that you start thinking about it and preparing yourself for the inevitable.”

“I’m not ready to accept that, though,” Chloe admits, avoiding eye contact with her mother. “It’s already hard enough seeing you in pain all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” she insists, though it is a weak attempt to convince her.

Chloe’s knowledge from her school combined with the past seven months of caring for her mother and holding her hand through the night as she sobs from the unimaginable pain says otherwise. 

But Chloe knows better than to argue. It’s easier just to agree with her mother at this point. 

“I love you, Mom,” she says warmly, eyes meeting with her mother’s. “How about we go and watch a movie back in your bed? I can make us some popcorn.”

Her mother nods, setting her glass on the edge of the counter. 

“I would like that very much,” she says.

“Why don’t you go and lie down and pick something out?” Chloe suggests. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She watches as her mother hobbles out of the kitchen, listens to the sounds of her footsteps as she heads down the hall, holding her breath as though her mother will collapse on the ground at any second.

Only once her mother has made it into her bedroom, the sound of the bed creaking slightly as she crawls into it, does Chloe allow herself to cry.

She only has a few minutes, and she manages to calm herself down by the time the popcorn is finished. She pours it into a bowl, and refills both of their glasses of water, setting it all on a tray and carrying it into her mother’s room. She sets the tray on the nightstand before crawling into the queen-size bed, pressing closely to her mother’s side.

They sit there, watching the romantic comedy that her mother had selected, eating popcorn (her mother eats a few small handfuls; the sickness has taken away her appetite, and Chloe knows that she’s only doing it so that Chloe doesn’t worry about her. She still worries.). 

And for awhile, Chloe forgets that these memories will be the only thing that she has left of her mom a year from now. It just feels like a normal night, just like the way things used to be back when she was in high school, back before the diagnosis, back when she was excited about her future, about going away to school at Tulane and becoming a nurse. 

Back in the calm before the storm. 

Back before she had to grow up.


	4. we call it heaven but it's hell on earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot second but I've been unbelievably stressed and busy, so enjoy!

“Rebecca!” 

She can hear the screaming from down the hall, and the familiar click clacking of her mother’s aggressive and heeled footsteps coming closer, but instead, she turns over in bed so that she’s facing away from the door, pulling the covers tighter to her body in spite of the humidity. 

“Rebecca!” her mother repeats with annoyance, swinging her bedroom door open and forcibly shaking her awake. “Wake up, please.”

Letting out a groan of annoyance, Beca forces herself to sit up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning before directing her attention to her mother. She is standing with her arms crossed in front of her watching her expectantly, already dressed up for the day, makeup and hair done up. 

“What’s so important that you have to wake me up before noon on a Saturday?” Beca asks crossly, eyeing her mother suspiciously. 

“Hattie needs someone to go over and watch Harper and Harrison Jr. while she does some work with Aubrey,” her mother says sharply.

“Great,” Beca replies smartly. “I suggest you get in your car now so that she’s less cross with you by the time you get there.”

“I have a meeting with the committee about the new branding for the jam labels,” her mother replies snarkily. “Obviously, I wouldn’t be asking you if I could do it myself.”

_ Of course,  _ Beca thinks to herself.

“Wow, Daddy dearest is actually letting you speak on his behalf,” she remarks with faux-amazement, earning an irritated glare from her mother. 

“It’s not just his business, y’know. I own half the family’s shares,” her mother responds defensively, pursing her lips. “Which is why it’s important I go to this meeting. Please do this for me, Rebecca. I think you owe it to us after all of this time.”

_ You owe it to us.  _

The words ring in her head for a few minutes and she is fuming.  _ I owe you nothing!  _ she thinks bitterly to herself, scowling at her mother. But arguing won’t help, and as much as she hates to admit it, it wouldn’t kill her to spend a few hours with the niece and nephew that she has never really met before. As much as she hates Hattie, the idea that she will be able to fly back to Los Angeles tomorrow morning and not come back is reassuring.

“Tell Hattie I’ll be over in thirty minutes,” she laments with a sigh, not missing the gracious look of relief that passes over her mother’s face. “I at least need a shower and some coffee.”

Her mother, surprisingly, just nods.

“I’ll let her know.”

She doesn’t thank her (not that Beca expected her to; being thankful is below her mother’s paygrade), but she quickly leaves Beca’s room, the sound of her heels aggressively clicking slowly disappearing, followed by the sound of the heavy front doors of Mitchell Manor closing behind her.

* * *

Hattie’s house is nice, though Beca is not surprised. The Posens have a lot of money, after all, and the Mitchells were already fairly well off anyways, inheriting a large fortune sustained from years of owning the Mitchell Peach Orchards. Her mother never specified what exactly Hattie was trying to do (they both know that Hattie has never worked a day in her life) that required someone to watch her children, but when Beca pulls into the driveway in Beau’s busted old pickup truck, she is surprised to see several different cars pulled into the driveway.

She pulls her leather jacket tighter to herself as she gets out of the car, feeling more secure in her jeans and t-shirt than she did in the dress she wore to the funeral service, and closes the truck door behind her.

She can hear the sound of the television playing some annoying children’s cartoons in the living room when she enters the house, being cautious to close the door behind her. Unlike Mitchell Manor, Hattie’s house is still meticulously cleaned, but there are no nannies or housekeeping staff to be found. Beca’s eyes are assaulted by a multitude of black and white family photos plastered to cream-colored walls along with kitschy sayings like “Live, Laugh, Love” interspersed between them. This domestic nightmare makes her want to gag.

“You’re late,” Hattie snips shortly from in the kitchen.

Beca rolls her eyes as she follows the voice, surprised to find Hattie sitting at the table with Aubrey, mapping out some sort of seating chart.

“I told Mom I would be thirty minutes,” Beca says gruffly, narrowing her eyes at Aubrey, who glares at her. “I was under the impression that you were doing  _ actual _ important work, not playing party hostess.”

“The Governor’s Ball is important,” Aubrey snaps at her matter-of-factly. “Hattie was so kind as to help me with the planning.”

“Oh, of course,” Beca says mockingly.

“Hattie?” a familiar voice calls out from another room, nearing the kitchen until Chloe Beale is standing a few feet away from her. The concerned look on her face drops when she makes eye contact with her, and she offers Beca a friendly smile. “Rebecca, nice to see you again!”

“It’s Beca,” she offers with a shrug.

“Harrison Jr. wanted to know if he could have another cookie,” Chloe asks, directing her attention to Hattie. 

“I suppose,” Hattie replies begrudgingly. “You’re free to come in the kitchen and help us now that Rebecca is here to watch the kids.”

Chloe smiles weakly and nods, reaching for a cookie sitting out on the counter and handing it to Beca.

“He’ll be easier for you to win over if you’re the one to give it to him,” she says warmly, baby blues shining. They hold eye contact for a few seconds too long and are interrupted by Aubrey clearing her throat.    
“Thanks,” Beca says, gingerly taking the cookie from Chloe’s hand and heading towards the living room.

Beca really hates kids. She regrets her decision to come over the minute she steps into the living room and finds Harrison Jr. sitting at the glass coffee table with markers and a coloring book, bright red marker smeared all over his forearms as he scribbles aggressively in his coloring book. Harper is at least occupied by the annoying television show playing on the flatscreen television mounted to the wall, speaking in high pitched voices that have Beca wishing that she were deaf.

“Sup little guy?” she tries, bending down to Harrison’s height and placing the cookie on the edge of the coffee table between them. “Mom said you could have another cookie.”

His beady eyes meet with her’s, eyeing her suspiciously before taking the cookie and immediately nibbling on it. 

She lets out a sigh, standing up and sinking into the couch. For Hattie’s children, they sure are quiet; Hattie was always running her mouth when they were kids and they could  _ never  _ get her to shut up.

They sit there for who knows how long, and to be honest, Beca isn’t really  _ watching  _ the kids because they’re all perfectly content with whatever they’re doing. Honestly, Beca’s not sure why she wasted her time driving over to begin with. It’s not like Hattie’s kids are babies; Harrison is like, six, and Harper’s only a year or so younger. Beca hasn’t had much experience with children, but she’s had enough to know that her niece and nephew are old enough to be plopped down in front of a screen or something without needing anyone to watch them.

In all honesty, it just feels like a huge waste of her Saturday. Not that she was really planning on doing anything to begin with; there’s not much to do in Jackson. Honestly, there’s not really anyone worth spending time with either. The only close friend she had was Beau, and he had died long before she’d run away to California. 

“You seem bored out of your mind.”

Chloe’s voice pulls her attention away from the wall that she’d been so keenly focused on, and she can’t help but grin a bit as she makes eye contact with the redhead.

“Kids aren’t really my thing,” Beca admits with a shrug as Chloe comes to sit down beside her on the couch. “Did they kick you out already? I knew Aubrey was a bully, but I didn’t realize she was that bad.”

Chloe tries her best to feign amusement but fails; it’s written all over her face in the content glimmer in her blue eyes and the quiver of her lips- a smile threatening to spill like lava from a volcano.

“Aubrey isn’t  _ that  _ bad,” Chloe defends the blonde, though her argument is weak. “I’m just not really one for planning parties.”

“How do you know Posen anyways?” Beca grumbles. “You don’t seem like someone to hangout with her type. At least, you don’t seem like the type to go out of your way to be friends with someone like  _ that _ .”

“Well, her daddy is the mayor of Jackson. My daddy is the preacher. It’s all about politics,” Chloe said with a shrug. “When we relocated here five years ago, my daddy was brought into the politics of Jackson. Thankfully, he’s an easy going guy, so it’s not like it’s an issue for him.”

Chloe stops and sighs for a moment before shaking her head to get herself back on track.

“Anyways, when I came back from school last year,” she continued wistfully. “Daddy introduced me to Aubrey after my first Sunday service, and she showed me around and introduced me to Hattie and a few other people.”

“Where’d you go to school?” Beca hears herself ask. She’s not sure whether it’s out of politeness or sheer curiosity, but she asked, didn’t she?

“Tulane,” Chloe says proudly. “I’m a registered nurse.”

“So do you work at the hospital?” Beca presses.

Chloe falters, shaking her head, but before she can answer, they’re interrupted by footsteps approaching the living room area.

“You can go, Rebecca,” Hattie says, though her tone is neutral and not snappy. Surprisingly, she tacks on a rushed, “Thank you.”

“It’s whatever,” Beca says with a sigh, standing up from her spot on the couch, even though it most definitely is  _ not  _ whatever. She has a redeye to catch tomorrow, after all. 

“What time is your flight back to Los Angeles tomorrow?” Hattie asks.

It catches Beca off-guard; she’s not used to Hattie caring much for her whereabouts. Even when they were children, Hattie didn’t pay much mind to what she and Beau were up to, so long as they stayed away from her. 

“My plane takes off at four tomorrow morning,” Beca responds coyly.

Hattie just nods, pursing her lips tightly.

“Heading back so soon?” Chloe asks, seeming genuinely saddened. The look on her face almost makes Beca want to cancel her flight and stay a little long, but she shakes the thought immediately. 

_ I can’t stay here,  _ she reminds herself sternly.  _ I don’t belong here. I belong back in L.A. with my friends. I belong with the music. _

“Well, you’ll be back again, won’t you?”

She sees Hattie biting back a laugh, but her older sister doesn’t say anything. Instead, she stares at Beca with beady eyes, waiting for her to answer Chloe’s question.

“Probably not for a long time,” Beca admits, eyes flickering away from Chloe; she can’t stand to see the disappointed look on her face. “My band can’t really afford for me to skip town all the time. This was a one-time thing.”

“I’m sure it’s more than just that,” Aubrey scoffs from the doorway. She’s arrived at some point within the next couple of minutes, and is standing with her arms crossed over her chest beside Hattie. 

“As if you’d know anything about my life,” Beca shoots back irritatedly, tugging her leather jacket tight to her skin before moving towards the front door.

Aubrey simply rolls her eyes.

“Have a safe flight tomorrow, Beca,” Chloe calls out over her shoulder, offering her a sad, yet well-meaning smile. “Perhaps our paths will cross another time.”

Beca doesn’t have the heart to tell her that they will likely never see each other again, that she doesn’t plan on returning to Jackson again now that she’s lost the last person that she ever carried about in this stupid, little town. Instead, she offers Chloe a thinly-veiled nod of reassurance and a half-hearted smile.

Hattie and Aubrey don’t say a word to her; they just stare. The last thing Beca hears as she’s leaving Hattie’s house is the sound of children’s cartoons still playing on the television before she peels off down the road.

* * *

“You look real pretty Chlo,” Celia swoons from the doorway, entering Chloe’s bedroom to stand beside her in front of the vanity mirror. “I’m sure that Tom will think you look lovely; blue has always been your color, after all.”

Chloe can’t help but blush at the compliment. 

“It’s nothing much,” she admits with a shrug. “I could wear a garbage bag and Tom wouldn’t notice. He’s too interested in trying to get a ring on my finger.”

Celia bites back a laugh and shakes her head, blonde curls falling down her shoulders. 

“I don’t understand why you don’t just oblige him,” Celia replies, plopping herself Chloe’s bed and lying sprawled on her stomach. “He’s rich and good-looking and thoughtful and he loves the Lord; Mama and Daddy love him. He wouldn’t be a bad husband.”

“I just don’t really think I should be rushing into marriage right now,” Chloe insists, standing from her vanity and giving herself a final one-over before turning to face her sister. “I’m only twenty-three. I have time.”

_ But Mama doesn’t _ , she hears the voice in the back of her head.

She knows that Celia wants to say the same thing, but she knows better than to voice it outloud. It’s one of the few things that they leave unsaid between the two of them; it’s better that way. Some things are just easier not to talk about, after all.

“I’m glad that we got to spend some time together in the city this afternoon,” Celia says with a thoughtful smile. “You’re always so busy between Mama and whatever Aubrey and Hattie have you doing, that I feel like I never see you.”

Chloe frowns a bit, but forces a smile. 

“I’m just sorry that we had to leave earlier than we envisioned,” she laments. “I totally forgot that Aubrey and Hattie wanted me to help them with planning for that gala for Tom’s dad.”

“I don’t blame you,” Celia replies haughtily. “It sounds boring; I would forget about it too. Besides, Aubrey and Hattie are two of the most anal people I’ve ever met. I highly doubt you got a word in edgewise between the two of them.”

Chloe feels a blush creep onto her cheeks.

“Celia!” she snaps, though not out of irritation, merely out of shock. They aren’t supposed to use language like that. It’s not exactly preacher’s daughter-like.

“What?” Celia says with a smirk. “It’s true, and you know it.”

Chloe rolls her eyes.

“Tom’s going to be here soon,” she says with a sigh, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her little sister’s forehead. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

“I expect all the dirty details!” Celia calls out from behind her.

“Gross!”

She’s quiet as she heads down the stairs; she’s not sure if her mother is asleep or not, but she figures it’s easier to tread lightly regardless, not wanting to disturb her mother’s peace if she is resting.

“You look lovely, Chloe,” her mother croaks from her bedroom.

Chloe halts for a moment and takes in a deep breath before heading towards the bedroom, smiling as she makes eye contact with her mother. 

“That was the goal,” she replies lightheartedly. “Celia helped me pick it out today during our little shopping trip.”

Her mother smiles warmly at this.

“I’m glad my girls get along so well,” she hums thoughtfully. “It makes me feel a bit better about leaving you behind.”

“Mama,” Chloe warns her, swallowing at the lump in her throat. 

“It’s going to happen whether you acknowledge it or not, Chlo,” her mother continues. “I’m sorry it upsets you, but I’m just trying to prepare you for when the time comes. I’m not exactly getting any better.”

Chloe simply nods, sitting on the edge of her mother’s bed with a sigh.

“I just hate that things have to be this way is all, Mama,” she says quietly. “It’s not  _ fair _ .”

She can feel the tears starting to prick in the corners of her eyes, and hard as she tries she just can’t will them away. She feels her mother’s shaky fingers reach forward to wipe away her tears.

“Don’t cry, my darling,” her mother insists soothingly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’ll ruin your makeup. Save your tears for another day, for someone who needs them.”

Chloe takes in a deep breath and nods, forcing a smile on her face, though her eyes are still watery. 

“I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too,” her mother replies warmly, clasping Chloe’s hand in her own. “Now go and answer that door before Mr. Harrington rings the doorbell. I just heard a car pull into the driveway.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, biting back an amused laugh before kissing her mother goodbye and heading towards the door.

She opens it just in time, to reveal Tom, dressed in a baby blue button down and some navy slacks, a bouquet of lilies in his hand.

“For you, m’lady,” he says sweetly as he hands her the flowers. Chloe can feel the blush creeping on her cheeks as she smiles gratefully and takes them from him.

“Come on in,” she replies, heading towards the kitchen. “It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to get these in a vase, and then we can head off.”

Tom nods as he closes the front door behind him and follows her into the kitchen. She can feel him staring as she fills a crystal vase that was her grandmother’s with water, and sets the lilies inside. She leaves them on the kitchen table, figuring they’ll help brighten the drab kitchen; it’s not like anyone really eats there anyways. They haven’t had a family dinner since before her mother’s cancer diagnosis.

“What’s on the menu for tonight?” she asks playfully as his arm links with her’s. 

She has to admit, they must look like a dashing pair as they stride down the front lawn of her parent’s house and towards Tom’s car. Like the gentleman that he is, he opens the passenger side door for her, and waits before she’s buckled into her seat before closing it behind her.

“It’s a surprise,” he says with a smug look on his face. “But I can guarantee that you’ll like it.”

Chloe lets out a sigh, staring out the window. The sky is tinged with deep orange hues as they drive down the private road and back onto the main road. 

“Aubrey tells me that you’ve befriended Rebecca Mitchell,” Tom says after a few minutes of silence.

“Before you say anything,” Chloe begins. “She’s really not as bad as everyone makes her out to be. She’s sweet, and funny.”

She notices Tom’s grip on the steering wheel tighten, but he doesn’t say anything, and nothing on his face gives away his discomfort.

“I never said anything about her,” he reiterates. “I’ve honestly never even met her before. But her reputation precedes her. I wouldn’t get too close to her is all I’m saying, Chlo.”

She can’t help but let out a huff of annoyance, folding her arms over her chest.

“People can change, you know,” she hears herself reply defensively. “It’s been a long time since she’s been home. She left when she was really young. She’s older now, I’m sure she’s grown up a bit.”

“I dunno, Chlo,” Tom says skeptically. “Her own family doesn’t seem to keen to have her around. I think that says a lot.”

Chloe bites her lower lip.

“The Mitchells aren’t exactly welcoming,” she shoots back. “Sure, they’re nice once you get to know them, but you can never really tell what they’re really thinking. They all have this look, like they’re secretly undermining you. Beca doesn’t really seem like that type; she’s pretty blunt.”

“I don’t have much to say on that,” he says after a few minutes of silence. “But that just seems like high society in the South, Chlo. They have to carry themselves in a way that asserts their power over everyone else, otherwise they wouldn’t be as respected. The Mitchells are one of the wealthiest families in this part of the state. Their peach orchards have been a crown jewel of Georgia for hundreds of years now.”

Chloe simply rolls her eyes, studying Tom.

“I suppose that’s just something I’m not all too familiar with then,” she replies sharply, narrowing her eyes at the road ahead.

“Well, if you’d give my proposal any thought, it  _ could  _ be something you become familiar with,” Tom says condescendingly.

“I told you I’d think about it, and I’m not done thinking about it yet,” Chloe says evenly. 

“I don’t understand what there is to think about, Chlo. It’s been almost three months. Either you want to marry me, or you don’t.”

  
_ It’s not my decision to make,  _ she thinks bitterly to herself.  _ I’ll end up marrying you regardless of what I really want. It’s about what everyone else wants and what will make them happy. It’s just a matter of when.  _

“I want to marry you, Tom,” she insists. “I just don’t think now is the right time, with Mama being so sick and me being so young. I’m only twenty-three. We have plenty of time.”

He lets out a displeased huff, but says nothing more as they pull into the parking lot of the restaurant.

“Enough of this,” he replies, offering her a soft smile. “I promised you a nice dinner date. No talk of politics. No talk of marriage. Just you and me and a good meal, whaddya say?”

Chloe can’t help but smile and nod in agreement.

“Deal.”


	5. i used to win every night of the week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for your patience! i've been super busy the past few weeks, and most of my free time has been devoted to working on my original projects. for anyone interested and here because they knew me from fanfiction.net, forget-me-not is on draft three and i have ten chapters until it's finished. i've really been working hard to turn it into something i can be proud of over these past couple of years since taking it down and turning it into a more put together, original piece of work, and i can't wait until i can share it in it's completion with everyone.
> 
> but anyways, enough of that! here's this new chapter. enjoy, my lovelies <3
> 
> chapter's title is from the song "tomorrow" by shakey graves

Helena’s house was just how she remembered it, a small house in the middle of nowhere, right near the crick. Against her parents’ biggest wishes, Beca and Beau had snuck out to visit Helena whenever she wasn't working for the day, especially in the summer, when they were often left to the care of their grandmother. She’d always loved Helena’s house; it was homey and comforting, and it smelled like freshly picked flowers and whatever Helena happened to be cooking up in the kitchen. In other words, it was nothing like the stoney, cold walls of Mitchell Manor.

She and Beau had spent a lot of days in the summertime playing with Helena’s son, Jericho, who’d been a couple of years older than Beau. They’d run around in the small backyard space and play in the crick while Helena hollered at them to go easy while she took laundry off the clothing line. They’d always have a hearty meal of whatever Helena had been cooking and by sundown, Helena would have them washed down and send them back to Mitchell Manor looking cleaner than they’d looked earlier in the day.

It takes her a few minutes to work up the courage to get out of the truck and go inside, but the lack of time that she has makes it very clear that it’s now or never, so Beca forces herself to approach the front door and knock on it.

“Beca,” Jericho exclaims, eyes widening with surprise as he opens the door. He has grown significantly since she’s last seen him, and though he always was tall, he now towers over her (not a difficult feat to accomplish). “What brings you to town? I thought you were out West or somethin’ these days?”

“Grandmother passed away last week, so I’m in town for the funeral,” she explains solemnly. “I fly back tomorrow, but I wanted to visit with Helena if she’s here.”

Jericho purses his lips, eyeing her suspiciously.

“You broke Mama’s heart last time she saw you, runnin’ off like that wit nothin’ but a note to leave behind,” he scolded her. “Why should I let you in to see her in her sickly state?”

“Helena’s sick?” Beca asks weakly, her heart sinking. She can’t forgive herself for not coming back to say goodbye to her grandmother, but Helena, now, too? 

His eyes soften and she watches as he shifts out of the way for her to come into the mud room. 

“She’s sittin’ up on the couch watchin’ the news if you wanna peek in and visit,” he concedes with a sigh. Beca starts towards the living room, inhaling the familiar scent of her childhood. “And Beca?”

She turns around to face him, halting her steps.

“I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother,” Jericho offers his condolences. “Miss Lilith was a lovely lady. She was always real good to my mama and me.”

Beca can’t help but smile softly, recalling the few times that Jericho had come over to Mitchell Manor with his mother. Grandmother had treated him like one of her own, inviting him to sit under the willow tree with her and Hattie and Beau and listen to stories by the great poets. 

“Thank you, Jericho. It means a lot.”

He shrugs before heading back towards the kitchen, disappearing from her line of vision. Beca takes in a deep breath to brace herself before entering the living room, the sound of the news blaring loudly through the television. She chuckles to herself, thinking that Helena really hasn’t changed after all these years. 

She’d always watched the news when they’d been growing up.

“Why you always gotta be watching the news Miss Helena?” Beau had always grumbled. “Why can’t we watch the cartoons?”

“‘Cuz the news is how we stay educated,” Helena would always scold him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he huffed, clearing his throat to mime her. “‘And educated folks make the world a better place’.”

“That’s exactly it.”

“Do my eyes deceive me in my ol’ age, or is that really Rebecca Mitchell standin’ over there in my doorway?” Helena’s voice calls out from across the living room.

Beca fights hard to swallow the lump in her throat; she knows it’s no use, because she’ll end up crying at some point anyways, but it’s better to try and avoid being scolded by Helena for crying than to not try at all.

“I thought I’d pop by for a visit,” she admits weakly, approaching Helena, who is sitting on the couch, wrapped up in layers and layers of blankets that she herself has crocheted over the years. 

Time is a cruel thing, Beca is reminded. Helena looks so much older than fifty-seven, the age that she should be. But sickness has a funny way of making people look older and weaker than they actually are. The wrinkle lines on Helena’s face are more defined, making her look less sharp and stern than she had back when she’d been younger. Her hair has silvered close to her temples and in various streaks. She looks smaller, frailer, even.

“Seven years since you up and run away, and you just decide to pop by for a visit?” Helena scoffs with a roll of her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. “Get over here and give me a hug, girl.”

Beca does as asked, relishing in the warmth of the hug. In spite of how frail she seems, Helena is still one of the tightest huggers that Beca has ever known in her life. After what seems like ages of bending down into Helena’s arms, she sits down on the couch, and the news is muted. 

“I’m so sorry,” Beca apologizes quickly, the words leaving her mouth before she can even register what she’s going to say. 

“About what, child?” Helena asks, confused.

“Everything. Running away, my parents getting rid of you, your sickness, everything.”

Helena simply laughs, shaking her head.

“I know I taught you how to apologize properly, Lord knows it was necessary the amounta times you ‘n Miss Hattie would get into it,” Helena chuckles to herself. “But none of that’s the case here.”

“If I would’ve just stayed here-”

“None of that nonsense. I won’t hear of it today or any day that the Lord keeps me kickin’ on this beautiful Earth,” she says sternly, and Beca immediately feels like a ten-year-old girl getting scolded for running around through the peach orchards in her bare feet and night clothes. “I understand why you did what you did, honey. No one blames you, least of all me.”

“I just couldn’t stay here,” Beca chokes out, letting a stray tear escape from her eye for the first time since setting a foot in Jackson. “Not after everything with Beau. It just hurt too much.”

She feels Helena’s hands clasping around her own, her thumb reassuringly rubbing along the top of Beca’s hand. 

“I know, honey, I know,” she says softly. “We all miss him more than anything, but I can’t imagine how much it hurt you, baby. You two was ‘ttached at the hip from the minute you was born.”

Beca chuckles through her tears, nodding in agreement. 

“Jericho says your sick?” she asks weakly. “What’s the doctor have to say about that? I’m sure it’s an easy fix.”

Helena smiles solemnly, shaking her head.  
“It’s a matter of months at this point, sweet girl,” she says gently. “But I don’t much mind. The Lord will take me when it’s my time to go. And then my sweet boy can finally go off and be out in the world like he supposed to be already.”

Beca can’t help but feel her heart break at the thought of losing Helena again. She’s promised herself time and time again during this weekend trip that she’ll never return to Jackson after this funeral, but she can’t fathom not coming home to say goodbye to Helena. She doesn’t think she can forgive herself if she doesn’t come back to bury the woman who practically raised her. 

Helena, who sacrificed so much time away from Jericho, just to support the two of them. Her husband had died from addiction years before Beca was born, and it had just been the two of them for the longest time. She remembered how proud Helena had been when Jericho had gotten accepted into college up north on scholarship for his good marks in school and terrific football ability. 

“He wants to be here with you,” Beca insists. “He loves you, Helena. You’re all he’s got his entire life. I would’ve done the same if I were him.”

She wishes, with a pang of jealousy, that she had an ounce of love for her parents like Jericho has for his mother. 

“And I want nothin’ more than to see him be happy and successful,” Helena replies stubbornly. “He worked hard to get his degree in law, and here he is wastin’ away watchin’ his poor ol’ mama die instead of doin’ what God wanted him to be doin’.”

She lets out a long sigh, figuring it’s no use to argue.

“Well anyway, enough of this bein’ sad,” Helena insists, quickly changing the subject. “I want to hear all ‘bout what it’s like in California.”

Beca can’t help but laugh a bit at this, bitterly thinking about her conversation with her parents the morning of the funeral.

“It’s beautiful out there,” she begins, feeling her heart fluttering at the memory of the place she’s called home for the last seven years. “I live in an apartment with my three best friends and we tour most of SoCal playing in bars and small venues just to make ends meet, but I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Helena smiles at this, in a genuine way, not a judgmental way like Beca’s used to seeing. 

“And these friends, they’re good to you?” she asks with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“Beau would love them,” Beca assures her. “There’s Stacie, who is the raunchiest person I’ve ever met. She’s got the dirtiest mouth I’ve ever heard, so you probably wouldn’t like her much at first; I didn’t really until I got to know her. But she’s also the kindest person who would do anything for her friends, and she can play some killer guitar. 

She pauses, smiling to think of the tall brunette and their several misadventures.

“Then there’s Jesse, the biggest nerd I’ve ever known in my entire life. He’s like a brother to me, always looking out for all of us girls on the road. He’s probably the best drummer I’ve ever met in my entire life, which makes sense because his granddad played drums for the Doors back in the day.

“And of course, there’s Emily,” she hums thoughtfully. “She’s a little bit too cheerful for my taste sometimes, and a tad younger than all of us, but she’s a good singer and good company.”

“Beau would be so proud of you,” Helena says after Beca has finished with her rambling.

“You really think so?” Beca asks incredulously.

Helena just nods, as though she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

“He loved you, Beca. And the two of you woulda gone on to do great things together if he wouldn’t’a gone the way that he did,” she states matter-of-factly. “You two always were quite the duo, ‘specially when it came to music. I dunno where you got it from, sure as hell not from your Mama and Daddy, but the two of yous was talented. He’d be proud of you for keeping with it.”

“Mama, it’s time for your medicine,” Jericho calls out from the kitchen as he approaches them, standing in the doorway with a small cup filled with pills.

Beca watches as Helena just shakes her head.

“I keep tellin’ you I don’t need them,” she insists. “It’s just a waste o’ pills to give ‘em out to a dead lady like that.”

“Please,” Beca says softly, taking Helena’s hand in her own. “Just do it for me. It would make me feel a lot better.”

Helena lets out a long sigh, but mutters something under her breath along the lines of ‘fine’. Jericho shoots her a grateful and appreciative smile as he approaches with the pills and a glass of juice for her.

After Helena has taken all of her pills, Beca stands up from the couch.

“I should probably get back to the house soon,” she admits warily. “My parents will be expecting me for family dinner tonight, unfortunately.”

“Have a safe flight back, baby,” Helena coos, reaching up to cup Beca’s face in her shaking hands, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’re always welcome to call the telephone. I wouldn’t be mad to hear from you every now ‘n again before I kick tha bucket.”

Beca rolls her eyes, but nods.

“Of course.”

She turns to Jericho, who smiles at her softly before pulling her into a tight hug.

“It was good seein’ you again, Beca,” he says. “Thanks for stoppin’ by to visit.”

“Take care,” Beca insists. “Both of you.”

Before she can cry again, heart tearing into two, she closes the front door behind her and heads back out towards her truck. She forces herself to turn the key in the ignition and head off down the old dirt road leading back to the main road, leaving behind the last decent memory that she has of her childhood.

Long after dinner has passed, and the sun is starting to set, Beca finds herself sitting underneath one of the willow trees in the backyard, before she dials Stacie’s number.

“What’s shakin’ bacon?” Stacie asks playfully, picking up almost immediately. “Ready to be back home tomorrow? Drinks on me to recoup.”

“About that,” Beca says warily, staring off at the acres and acres of peach trees filling the backyard. “I think I’m gonna stay a little longer than expected.”


	6. for once i don't feel frightened, you turned my world around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i'm feeling incredibly giving and inspired today, so here is another chapter! i can't promise when the next update will be, especially with the remainder of march and april being very hectic, so enjoy this extra lengthy chapter filled with bechloe time (which is what you all came here for!). thank you all for your continued patience, and for just reading this fic! it's been ages since i've done more than just short and half-assed multi-chapters or oneshots, and i'm thankful for how receptive everyone has been to this!
> 
> chapter title is from "other side of love" by anderson east :)

It’s been three days since Beca decided to stay in Jackson, and she’s starting to regret her choice to stay. Three uncomfortable breakfasts and dinners with her parents. Three long days where she has absolutely nothing to do. She regrets not bringing along her guitar to occupy her, but then again, she didn’t think she would be in town long enough to warrant needing it. She briefly debates having Stacie ship it, but the thought of it getting lost or damaged is more worrisome than not having anything to do.

For the first time in years, she finds herself lingering around the door of Beau’s old room, just a few doors down the hall from her own. She hasn’t dared to set a foot inside since the funeral; it was too much of a reminder of what she had lost after he had died, and it's not like she's exactly been around to check it out. But for the first time in seven years, Beca is feeling confident enough that she can handle it.

She gently pushes open the door, taking in the fact that nothing has changed. The room is unabashedly Beau, just as it was when he was still alive. She can still smell his cologne and the freshness of his bed sheets that one of the maids had probably washed. She knows that her parents haven't set a foot inside of the room in years, but figured they still insisted on it being cleaned; there was no dust on any of his things. 

The posters of classic rock bands like Lynyrd Skynyrd and Pink Floyd are yellowed with age, but surprisingly, still stuck to the walls with the sticky putty that he’d use to keep them up. She smilea thoughtfully as she reachs down to look at the framed photo sitting on his nightstand of the two of them. It had been taken a few years before the accident, Beca's freshman year, Beau's junior, smiling as they sat underneath the willow tree, his arm around her back. She can't remember the day that it was taken, but she vaguely remembers her grandmother taking this picture. Neither of them liked photographs, and her parents have never been the type to photograph every single waking moment of their lives. She has the same photo framed beside her bed in her apartment back in California.

For a moment, Beca swears that it's a normal afternoon in the summer, recalling all the times she would wait for Beau to get back from his construction work job where he would spend hours from dawn to mid-afternoon out in the sweltering heat, pouring blacktop for Job Eatonton. 

Her eyes flicker to the corner of the room where the beloved Taylor guitar sits on its stand, untouched. She gravitates towards it, her fingers brushing against the smooth wood for the first time in years. After minutes of just staring, she wills herself to pull it from its place and sit along the edge of his bed.

The strings are horribly out of tune from years of just sitting and collecting dust, and with great care, she plucks them one by one, slowly tuning them until she can play a G chord with such clarity angels would cry.

It had been a gift from their grandmother when he turned thirteen. He’d begged and begged for this guitar.

_ “You don’t need a damn guitar, son,” her father had always insisted.  _

He’d wanted Beau to take over the family business and eventually run the peach orchard on his own, but Beau hadn’t wanted that, and despite his best efforts, he never could convince Beau to give up music. He’d been the only son; he could do no wrong anyways, so they were never as harsh with him as they'd been with her. 

_ “It’s just a silly pipe dream,” she’d heard her mother insist once in conversation to her father. “He’ll grow out of it. He’s only a boy. After we send him away to school and he becomes a well-educated gentleman, he’ll be ready to take over the orchard.” _

But Beau loved music. Beau loved to sing and play guitar and most of the time, he slacked off in school and spent his free time with his girlfriends and his buddies and with Beca. It would never be a pipe dream to him.

She starts to pluck at the strings, absentmindedly strumming through the variety of chords that she knows; whatever pops into her head at any given moment, until she is lost in a progression that she’s created out of nowhere. For a moment, she is completely lost in the music, like it’s just her and Beau sitting on his bed creating riffs and chord progressions. She cracks a smile just thinking about it, remembering how easily he could pull lyrics out of what felt like, nowhere, and in mere moments they would have a song.

“I didn’t realize that you played.”

The voice startles her so much that she nearly drops the guitar, but she manages to relax when she realizes it's just Chloe.

“Didn’t your Mama teach you manners?” she chides playfully, standing up from the edge of Beau’s bed.

The playfulness quickly dissipates upon seeing Chloe standing in Beau's doorway, and suddenly, Beca feels weirdly uncomfortable, as though she is intruding on stolen land. In a way, she is. Regardless of how long it's been since he's died, it will always be Beau's room, Beau's space. It seems to sacred to continue to stand there, especially with a near stranger in her midst.

She gently sets the guitar back down on its stand and heads towards the door, quickly closing it behind her and heading down the hall towards her own room.

“Sorry to startle you,” Chloe apologizes with the deepest sincerity; the look on her face shows it, when Beca finally halts in the safety of her own room. “Your mama said that you’d be upstairs.”

Beca frowns, closing her bedroom door enough so that it’s open just a crack, before plopping back down on her own bed.

“What can I help you with?” she musters, puzzled by the redhead's visit. She can’t think of any reason why Chloe would be here to visit with her. She barely knows her, after all. And she's friends with Hattie and Aubrey, the two people that hate Beca the most. For a split second, panic washes over her, and she wonders if Aubrey said anything more about why she left all those years ago.

“I overheard Aubrey and Hattie saying that you decided not to go back to Los Angeles,” Chloe admits, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. "So I thought I’d come by to keep you company.”

“Well, according to Aubrey and Hattie, and just about anyone else in this town, you’d know that I’m not the best company to align yourself with,” Beca grumbles.

“I like to form my own opinions about people,” Chloe shoots back with confidence. “And so far, you’ve done nothing that sets off red flags.”

Beca lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in, feeling slightly relieved. She has never been the kind of person that cares about what other people think, even as a kid. And even when she did care, she certainly never showed it. But for whatever reason, Beca finds herself thankful that Chloe likes her. For some odd reason, she _wants_ Chloe to like her. Which is silly because they barely know each other, and Beca will be flying back to Los Angeles in a matter of days, whenever she gets her bearings straight and gets over herself.

“So now that we have that all settled, what made you choose to say?” Chloe continues, watching her curiously with those astonishingly blue eyes that Beca can't get enough of.

“You’re quite nosy,” Beca remarks, more as a statement than as a criticism. “But if you must know, I have some unfinished business.”

“What kind of unfinished business?” Chloe presses.

“The kind that nosy redheaded strangers don’t need to know just yet,” Beca says with a smirk, pursing her lips. “What about you? Why are you in Jackson? You have to be what, twenty-something. You don't seem like the kind of person who wants small town life.”

Beca knows she hit the nail on the head, but Chloe just shrugs, unwilling to indulge her suspicions. 

“I’m twenty-three, and still trying to figure myself out, and my family’s important to me,” she admits nonchalantly, though Beca can see that there’s more than that by the glimmer of melancholy in her eyes. “I just graduated from college a year ago. There’s no rush.”

“Bullshit,” Beca says sharply, though she softens when she realizes how harsh her tone was. “You don’t have to actually tell me. Everyone has their reasons, just like I have mine. I won't grill you on it like everyone else in this town. I'll leave that to my mother and Hattie.”

This earns her a quiet laugh from her new companion before they fall into an odd silence.

  
“What’s it like in California?” Chloe asks wistfully, after a few minutes have passed between them. “I’ve heard a lot of different things from people I've met over the years, and I've always wanted to go, but I never gotten the chance."

“Nothing like here, that's for sure,” Beca begins with a light chuckle. She takes in a deep breath, thinking about the feeling of _home_ , something that she hadn't known until running away to California all those years ago. She thinks of her crowded, messy apartment with Stacie, Emily and Jesse in the city, and the late, adrenaline-filled nights playing her heart out in crowded bars, and shots of tequila, and traveling on the road to go to gigs in the middle of nowhere just for a chance to play for a crowd. “It’s a whole different energy. The people are vibrant and full of life. Everyone wants something, everyone wants to be  _ somebody.  _ Here, people are just content with what they end up with, but in Los Angeles, everyone wants more, everyone wants better. And no one is afraid to go after what they want or be who they want to be. It’s beautiful, part of what keeps me there.”

Chloe smiles, and Beca can't help but smile, too. 

“It sounds wonderful,” she admits thoughtfully. “The farthest I’ve ever been from home is when I went away to school.”

“What was it like at Tulane?” Beca finds herself asking, suddenly curious. She's never really spoken with anyone who went to college, other than Jesse, who studied at Berklee, in Boston, where he was born, and that's completely different. “Not that I know much about college, but I hear New Orleans is something else.”

Chloe laughs and nods, and Beca watches as her eyes glisten with nostalgia, as though her entire collegiate experience is flashing before her eyes and she's reliving all of those memories. 

“It’s beautiful. I loved everything about it,” she admits warmly. “New Orleans is such a beautiful city with such a rich cultural history. There are so many beautiful buildings and stories about the people and the city that just makes it so full of life.”

“Wow, I never would’ve pegged you for being a history nerd,” Beca replies with a chuckle, earning a playful smack from Chloe. 

“It was my favorite subject in school,” Chloe admits with faux-indignance.

“What made you want to become a nurse, then?” 

Chloe pauses for a moment before speaking, and Beca can see that she’s made her uncomfortable, but she’s more afraid of saying something and making things worse, so she keeps her mouth shut and waits for Chloe's response.

“I’ve always enjoyed helping people,” Chloe begins with a thoughtful, yet forced smile. “Growing up so involved in the church, I obviously moved around a lot and did a lot of community service. In high school, I worked in a nursing home taking care of older people, and I fell in love with it. So I decided to go to school to be a nurse, so I could help people of all ages.”

“There aren’t too many people to help in Jackson,” Beca says. “But I suppose that’s part of the draw. I’m sure it’s hard to see other people at their weakest.”

Chloe smiles weakly at this, nodding.

“Most of my training is in hospice,” she admits readily. “So it’s definitely not the easiest thing to deal with. But I’ve been told I’m a friendly face and good company, so it helps to know that I’m helping to brighten people’s last days.”

“It’s no wonder my grandmother liked you, then,” Beca says with a smirk. “She always had quite the zest for life. She was an interesting lady; she liked to be around interesting people.”

Chloe simply shakes her head, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face as she stifles a laugh.

“She definitely was an interesting lady. I wish I would’ve had a grandmother like that,” she says with a chuckle. “Though, she definitely played favorites, and I’d have hated to be on the brunt end of her wrath.”

Beca laughs as she remembers the way that her grandmother had always been so brash and opinionated, especially in regards to her opinions on her family members. Most of Beca's fondest memories of her grandmother include times where she called her father out. 

_ “Atticus, I did not raise my only spawn to act a fool,” she’d snapped snarkily. “I may be old and grey, but it doesn’t mean that you can disrespect me in my own home that I so graciously allow you to live in.” _

_ “It’s a matter of business, Mother,” he’d responded defensively. “I’m just worried for his future!” _

_ “Let Beau be, for Christ’s sake!” she’d shot back. “He’s not you, Atticus. You can’t force him to be something that he isn’t, or be someone that he doesn’t want to be. Your children are their own entities, they deserve to be treated as such.” _

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Beca replies thoughtfully. “She was never too fond of my father, and it got worse the older she got. Come to think of it, though she was never too fond of either of my parents. I definitely don't think Mother was her first choice of spouse for my father. She always had a huge soft spot for me and Beau though, probably because we took after her.”

Chloe chuckles, nodding in agreement.

“She talked about you a lot,” Chloe admits with an amused grin but a slightly guilty look in her eyes. “I don’t think that she liked Hattie all too much though, she always pretended to need a nap whenever Hattie would come over with the kids.”

Beca smirks, biting back her laughter. 

“Hattie’s always been a priss just like my mother,” Beca says matter-of-factly, pursing her lips to keep from laughing. “Too concerned about what other people think of her, too concerned about following Southern society's ridiculous rules and expectations. Grandmother always used to say, ‘Ordinary people lead ordinary lives, and ordinary lives don’t bring about any change.’ She’d always encourage us kids to think outside of the box and go after what we really wanted in life. But Hattie’s always been vapid and self-obsessed, and she never wanted anything to do with that. They weren’t close like we were.”

“I don’t understand how you could hate your sister so much,” Chloe remarks in earnest. “I love Celia; I couldn’t imagine my life without her. She’s probably one of my best friends, come to think of it.”

“I don’t  _ hate  _ Hattie,” Beca insists, though she can’t help but wonder if that’s true the moment she says it, especially recalling all the terrible things that she's heard Hattie say about her, both to her face _and_ behind her back. “We've never gotten along, not even when we were little. We’re two very different people with very different lifestyles, and there’s four years between us, which is a lot when you’re growing up. I always kind of get the feeling that she resented me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Chloe tries to reassure her. Her kindness makes Beca laugh. It’s endearing, and meant to try and make her feel better, but she’s beyond that point. She knows her family situation, especially her relationship with her sister, and there's no use at sugarcoating this far in.

“I don’t mind us not getting along,” Beca says with a shrug. “I'm sure you've noticed, but I’m not exactly close to the family members that are still living. It works for us though. I’m not sad about it.”

“I just can’t imagine not being a part of a close-knit family, I guess,” Chloe concedes with a frown, looking somewhat distressed by Beca's admission. “My family was all I had most of the time as a kid, especially whenever we had to move every couple of years when Daddy got reassigned to a new parish. I never had trouble making new friends, but when it came down to it, at the end of the day, parents and sister were the only people I'd never have to say goodbye to every time we moved.”

“And that's where we differ. My parents have never really been parents,” Beca insists, watching Chloe's immediate confusion. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally theirs; my birth certificate says it all, but they didn’t raise me. We were usually pushed off to Grandmother, or Helena, our nanny. I didn’t really ever see much of my parents growing up; they were always more concerned with other matters, my father with running the orchard and my mother with her social outings and keeping up with society. When we did see each other, they would usually critique us in the worst possible way during family meals.”

“Atticus and Lottie don’t _seem_ too bad, though,” Chloe offers meekly, as though she knows its a moot point. “I mean, sure, they have their faults, but who doesn’t, really?”

Beca chuckles, shaking her head.

“You really do try your hardest to see the good in everyone, even some of the worst people,” she admits incredulously.

Chloe shrugs.

“I just try not to judge people for their sins. That’s what God is for. And frankly, I think that He just wants us to love and respect each other, regardless of where we stand.”

“That’s a breath of fresh air to what I’m used to hearing from folks down here,” Beca whistles with amazement. “Especially coming from the preacher’s daughter.”

“I’m not my father, you know,” Chloe remarks simply. “I respect his calling, but I don’t necessarily agree with everything that the church has to say about things.”

“Well, that’s refreshing to hear,” Beca replies with a long sigh.

“I suppose I should be going,” Chloe admits after a few minutes of comfortable silence have passed. “You’re a good person, Beca Mitchell. Most people may not see it, but I do.”

Beca can’t help but blush at the girl’s words. It’s been so long since she’s heard those words; praise was never something that came easy growing up, not even from the grandmother that adored her.

“You’re not half bad yourself, Chloe Beale,” she remarks sheepishly, offering Chloe a cheeky grin. “Let me walk you out?”   


Chloe nods, eagerly taking Beca’s arm and interlocking it with her own as they leave the sanctuary of Beca’s childhood bedroom, and head down the staircase towards the main entrance.

“Leaving so soon, Chloe?” Beca’s mother remarks from the other room, flipping through a catalog magazine on the sofa. 

“My folks are expecting me back home for supper,” Chloe replies politely, offering Beca’s mother a small, guarded smile. “As always, it’s good to see you again, Mrs. Mitchell, and you too, Beca. I hope that you have a lovely afternoon.”

Beca can’t help but feel surprised as Chloe pulls her in for a quick hug. Chloe seems like a hugger, so she’s really not sure why she’s so shocked, but perhaps it’s because human affection is never something that Beca is exposed to. She’s never been particularly affectionate, aside from with a few special people, but even then, displays of affection have their time and place.

“I’ll see you around,” Chloe offers.

She nods, foolishly, as she follows Chloe outside, standing on the back porch, watching Chloe back out of the driveway in her little Toyota car and disappear into the distance. 

“I didn’t realize that you and Chloe Beale knew each other,” her mother remarks pryingly, setting down her catalog to make eye contact with Beca from the sitting room. With a sigh of defeat, Beca, who was hoping to just return to her bedroom for the remainder of the afternoon until dinnertime, reluctantly shuffles into the room to stand before her mother.

“We met at Grandmother’s funeral,” Beca acknowledges stiffly. “And again, the other day, when I went over to Hattie’s.”

“She’s a nice girl,” her mother hums thoughtfully, before adding, in a more condescending tone, “You’d do best to stay away from her. She’s got a good reputation to uphold, especially courting the Governor’s son like she is, and I’d hate to see you ruin that for her.”

Beca lets out a disdainful laugh, shaking her head.

“Of course,” she scoffs. “God forbid I be capable of changing after seven years. And you wonder why I’m always so reluctant to speak with you. When have you ever been anything other than judgmental and condescending to me? My entire  _ life  _ all you have ever done is make me feel inadequate, Mother. Well, guess what. I’m an adult now. I’ve been an adult for quite some time, and I’ve done just fine on my own.”

She narrows her eyes at her mother, who is still staring at her, stone-faced and neutral.

“I think I can choose for myself who I speak with, regardless of the reputation that  _ you _ , might I add, have done nothing but help fuel fire to.”

“I won’t have you speaking to me with such disrespect, Rebecca,” her mother says sharply. “I didn’t bring you into this world to be treated in such a way, and I won’t have it. Adult or not, you were raised better than this.”

“I was raised to think for myself and go after what I want in life, values that Helena and my grandmother instilled in me. Need I remind you, you may have given birth to me, but you have  _ never  _ been my parent, so why start now,” Beca snaps back angrily. “Respect is a two way street. You have to earn it from me.”

“How dare you speak to me about respect when your father and I have done nothing but give you the life and upbringing that provided you with what you have today,” her mother bristles, standing up so that she is face to face with her daughter, looking her square in the eyes. “I lost respect for you the day that you tarnished this family’s name and reputation, and ran away to California.”

“And I lost respect for you the minute you chose your precious reputation over your own fucking daughter!” Beca shouts in frustration, throwing her arms up in the air. “You talk such a big game about earning respect and our family’s reputation. Look around! There is no family left! There’s just you and my father in this big empty house, bossing around the help because you’ve ruined every relationship that you had with your children. Hattie doesn’t need you anymore now that she’s got the white picket fence and the marriage and Beau’s fucking  _ dead, _ but of course, if he were still around, he'd want nothing to do with either of you.  And then there’s me, the daughter you practically sent packing at the first sign of trouble. And all for what? Your good name?”

She feels the sting of a hand making contact with her cheek before she can register her mother’s movements. 

“You ungrateful bastard,” her mother says sharply, no remorse flickering in her eyes, just coldness. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ speak of my children like that.”

“Fuck you!” 

Before her mother can respond, Beca’s instincts scream for her to run. So she does. She runs with all of her energy out the front door and into the peach orchards. She runs for acres and acres, until she can no longer see Mitchell Manor, until all she sees are peach trees, ripe with delicious fruit. 

Angry tears dribble down her cheeks and she lets out a frustrated, strangled scream before sitting down and leaning against a peach tree, shading herself from the glare of the late afternoon sun.

“This was such a fucking dumb idea,” she grumbles to herself. “I should have never fucking stayed. I should’ve flown home when I had the chance. I should be in Los Angeles right now, not here having useless arguments with my ridiculous mother.”

She takes in a couple deep breaths until her breathing is steady and the angry crying has ceased.

_ If Beau were here, he would know what to do,  _ she can’t help but think to herself in agony, recalling all the times that he’d help to diffuse her anger after an argument with their mother or Hattie.

_ “I thought I’d find you here,” he’d said, offering her a sympathetic smile as he’d slump down onto the ground beside her in the midst of all the peach trees. “Bad fight?” _

_ She had nodded, sniffling through her tears before turning to him. He always put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed it reassuringly, in a weak attempt to convince her it would be okay. _

_ “Mama can be a real bitch sometimes,” he’d always concede, getting her to laugh a little. “But it’s not forever. You’ll be free of her soon. Just think of it, me and you, out in California, making music.” _

_ Beca would shake her head. _

_ “Easy for you to say,” she’d told him. “They love you. Me, they just don’t know what to do with. I’m not like Hattie, I don’t want to be married and have kids and play housewife. And that’s all they want for me.” _

_ “Fuck’ em,” Beau would say, throwing his arms up in the air with that shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m serious. You’re sixteen, Bec. Two more years, and you can be out on your own, making the choices you want. You don’t ever have to come back to Jackson if you don’t wanna. It can just be you and me against the world, like always.” _

_ “You really think so?” she’d always ask. _

_ And he’d nod. Even though they both knew that the chances of Beau getting to run away were slim, especially where their parents were concerned. In spite of all of their grandmother’s many protests and arguments with their parents, they both knew that Atticus Mitchell got what he wanted, and what he wanted was for Beau to buckle down, go to college, and run the peach orchard. _

_ “Feeling any better, little sis?” he would ask after a few minutes. _

She took in a deep breath before heaving herself up off the ground and plucking a peach from a low-hanging branch, wiping it off on her shirt before taking a big bite and letting the juices run down her chin.

“Just peachy.”

  
  



	7. they’ll sink like stones into their homes away from teeth like mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are about to be spoiled with frequent updates. my college went completely online for the rest of the semester, and i've moved back home and am not allowed to leave my house for the next two weeks. 
> 
> enjoy this chapter! finally getting some actual bechloe scenes <3
> 
> chapter title is from shakey graves' "pansy waltz"

Beca is oddly nervous as she waits for Chloe in Moe’s Diner, though she is struggling to place what it is, exactly, that she’s nervous about. It’s been a little over a week since she’s decided to stay in Jackson, and she and Chloe have spent quite some time together, much to Beca’s mother’s spite. Every day since the first day, when she walked in on Beca in Beau’s room, Chloe has come over to the house just to talk. Beca’s never really been one for making new friends, but this friendship with Chloe is something that makes life a little bit more bearable.

“Sorry I’m late!” Chloe apologizes quickly, pulling Beca from her thoughts as she scrambles towards their booth and crawls into her place across the table. She’s wearing a baby blue sundress that matches her eyes, and a wide brimmed hat that isn’t out of character for most of the women in town. Beca, as always, thinks she looks beautiful. “Celia needed help with something just as I was headin’ out.”

Beca offers a daydreamy smile and nods in understanding, smoothing out her jacket.

“It’s all good,” she assures her redheaded companion. “Waitress has been pretty busy keeping up with everyone else, anyways, so you haven’t missed a thing.”

Sure enough, the waitress comes by just a minute later, taking down their drink orders; Chloe orders a sweet tea, Beca, some coffee.

“Coffee in the middle of this heat?” Chloe asks, quirking an eyebrow with amusement as the waitress walks away.

Beca shrugs, stuffing her hands deeping into the pockets of her beloved leather jacket.

“Still adjusting to these days out here,” she admits. “A lot of caffeine helps, though.”

It’s odd, not following her usual schedule of sleeping all day and staying out all night, but Beca finds that she doesn’t really mind. Her time is occupied with walks out in the orchards and spending time with Chloe. Plus, avoiding her mother has become somewhat of a chore in itself. 

“What’s your mom like?” Beca asks absently, staring out the window of the diner, watching the slow traffic within the town limits. Nothing has changed. All of the shops that have been around her entire life are still open. There are a few people walking about on the sidewalk, but mostly, it’s dead; nothing like the ever-busy streets of Los Angeles.

“The kindest woman I know,” comes Chloe’s immediate response, her eyes widening in shock with how quickly she’s responded before she shrinks back into her seat, cheeks pink with embarrassment. “My apologies, I’ve always been a mama’s girl.”

Beca laughs a little, observing the sadness in Chloe’s eyes.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she assures her friend. “If my mother wasn’t the devil’s incarnate, I suppose I’d be a mama’s girl, too.”

Chloe chuckles at this, but the sadness doesn’t go away from her eyes, and Beca feels somewhat defeated that she cannot remedy that.

“My mama is one of my best friends,” Chloe continues with a thoughtful sigh. “We’ve always been close, but it’s just gotten harder ever since she got sick.”

“Sick?” Beca hears herself ask weakly, her heart sinking to her stomach. 

Chloe purses her lips as though trying not to cry, and nods.

“Mama was diagnosed with cancer a little over a year ago. It’s terminal, unfortunately. The doctor’s gave her maybe five or six months at most, but it’s not looking very good lately,” she admits quietly, though her eyes bright a bit as they finally meet with Beca’s. “That’s how I met Lilith. She and Mama did chemo together for a while, back before the diagnosis was terminal, for both of them.”

“Chloe, I’m so sorry,” Beca apologizes in earnest, reaching out across the table and taking Chloe’s hands into her own. “I can’t imagine how hard that is.”

Chloe just shrugs as though it’s nothing, but Beca can tell that it’s not. 

“As much as I miss New Orleans, I would miss my mama more,” she continues. “We found out right before graduation. I had a job lined up at one of the hospitals out there, but I turned it down to come back home. I didn’t think I could live with myself, not spending the last few months of her life with her, but now that I’m here, part of me wishes I wouldn’t have done that.”

Beca shudders, the guilt of not coming home earlier to see her grandmother before her death, and the memory of Helena, small and bony, bundled up in blankets on her couch, fresh in her mind. 

“I regret not being back sooner to say my goodbyes,” Beca admits. “But I know that she wouldn’t have held it against me. Grandmother was always a stubborn lady; she wouldn’t have wanted me to see her like that. And I wouldn’t have wanted my memories of her to be tainted by the memory of seeing her in her final days; in pain.”

Chloe nods in understanding.

“It’s not easy, but my family needs me here,” she insists. “Without Mama, there’s no one around to keep the house in order and keep the family together. She’s like the glue that holds us all together. Daddy’s been stayin’ out later and doing more in the community since the diagnosis; he has a real hard time seein’ her like that. And Celia’s only sixteen. She needs someone to look out for her still.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Beca says softly. “I get it. Death is never something easy to deal with.”

Chloe takes in a deep breath before exhaling slowly, though she forces a smile when the waitress returns, setting their respective drinks in front of them and quickly taking their lunch orders. 

“Beca, can I ask you something?” Chloe asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence between the two of them.

Beca nods, studying Chloe carefully as she takes a sip from her sweet tea, baby blue eyes meeting with her own.

“Why does Aubrey hate you so much?”

She bites her lip, flushing a bit as she watches Chloe’s face drop in horror.

“I’m so sorry for asking,” she immediately apologizes. “I’m sure that it’s a touchy subject, and frankly it’s none of my business-”

“Chloe,” Beca says firmly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I don’t mind.”

Chloe looks meek and small underneath the oversized hat resting on top of her head, but she doesn’t speak. Instead, she just watches Beca with those gentle eyes, with waiting ears to see what she has to say.

“I’m not sure what all you know,” Beca begins with a sigh. “But I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that not everyone is my biggest fan, ‘specially my own family.”

Chloe nods, and she pauses to take a drink from her coffee before turning her attention back to Chloe.

“I had an older brother, Beau,” she continues, a nostalgic smile crossing her face as she is flooded with memories of running around barefoot in the peach orchards with her big brother and late night drives to the bayou and campfire jams with Beau’s friends out in the fields. “He was two years older than me, but we were so close growing up.” She pauses for a minute before adding, with a smile, “He was my best friend.”

“Your grandmother spoke of him a few times,” Chloe says warmly. “But I never saw a picture. Not a recent one, anyway. She had a few she liked to show me of you guys when you were children.”

Beca chuckles at this, shaking her head in embarrassment, recalling how awkward she had looked during her childhood. Small and scrawny with horrible bangs and gaps in her teeth from baby teeth she’d purposefully yanked out to get money from the tooth fairy.

“He died a few weeks before my seventeenth birthday in a motorcycle accident. Took a turn too sharp and hit a curb too hard, went flying over the bike handles without a helmet and cracked open his skull.”

She shudders at the memory of the police officers standing on their front porch when she opened the door later that night. Her parents had spent all of dinner arguing about the family business, and had barely noticed that Beau hadn’t been at dinner. She remembers it like it was yesterday; the night that everything fell apart.

“Beca-” Chloe begins, but Beca cuts her off and continues her story.

“It broke me to lose him like that. I was the one that answered when the police came with the news. I was the one that went to identify his body in the morgue and confirm that it was really him. I’ve always been a wild child, but I went apeshit after Beau died,” she concludes firmly. “I did a few things that I’m not proud of, and unfortunately, people don’t like to let me forget about it, especially my own family members.”

Chloe’s brow is furrowed and she’s frowning.

“But why would they hold it against if you were hurting?” she asks with confusion.

“My family has never been one to care about feelings,” Beca replies with a shrug. “Especially not mine. They see it as a sign of weakness and a means to destroy the reputation that they’ve spent years building.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Chloe remarks lamely, earning an amused smile from Beca. 

“I think so too,” Beca agrees. “But it doesn’t really matter much what I think when the entire town hates me.” 

“They don’t hate you,” Chloe insists weakly, but Beca just shakes her head with amusement.

“I’m honestly surprised that Aubrey and Hattie haven’t told you this much, and more, about me,” she says matter-of-factly. “They both hate my guts. Hattie’s never liked me. She was the most vocal about my fuck-ups. Honestly, I’m sure they’re both just waiting for the right time to use it against me. They’re both bitches, but Aubrey is smarter than Hattie is. She’s always been calculated, ever since high school.”

Chloe shakes her head.

“Aubrey’s not all that bad,” she says firmly. “She’s just under a lot of pressure to act a certain way. Mayor Posen and his wife aren’t exactly forgiving, and I’m sure being compared to Harrison her entire life wasn’t any easier.”

“My parents aren’t the greatest either,” Beca argues. “And I was always being compared to Hattie  _ and  _ Beau. But I’m not a bitch.”

Chloe lets out a sigh of defeat.

“She’s still one of my only friends here,” Chloe defends herself. “Ever since I came back from Tulane and ever since my family moved here, she’s been nothing but hospitable.”

“I’m not asking you to choose sides,” Beca says solemnly. “I was just explaining my side of things and warning you to be careful is all.”

“When do you leave for California, again?” Chloe asks out of nowhere.

Beca pauses for a moment. In all honesty, since calling Stacie and letting her know that she was going to be staying in Georgia for a while, she hasn’t really thought of when she’s going to be going back. She doesn’t have a timeline for her stay, and honestly, she’s not sure what it is that’s keeping her tethered here. This town has nothing for her, only bad memories and a reputation that she ran away from seven years ago because the pressure was too much.

She looks across the table, eyes meeting again with sweet, baby blues and she lets out a sigh.

“I’m not really sure.”

Chloe smiles at this.

“I’m glad you’re staying. I like our time together. It gives me a reason to slip out of the house and visit with someone. Not that I mind Hattie or Aubrey’s company, or Tom’s visits, but it’s just nice to talk to someone so...refreshing.”

Beca chuckles, rolling her eyes to distract from her embarrassment.

“You’re not half bad yourself, Chloe Beale.”


	8. she's my delilah, she brings me to my knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short one, but enjoy! 
> 
> chapter title is pulled from the song this au is based on, "devil in me" by anderson east.

Beca can’t remember the last time that she went to church in a religious context. She frowns, studying herself in the mirror before leaving. Chloe had invited (read: begged) her to come to the Sunday service and formally meet the family, and with those baby blue puppy dog eyes, how could Beca refuse?

Letting out a whine of disapproval, Beca brushes her hands down the black dress decorated with blue and pink and purple flowers. It covers her shoulders and falls well-past her knees; something that her mother picked out for her back in high school that extraordinarily still fits after all these years. She hates dressing like this. It reminds her of something that Hattie would wear. But she knows better than to show up to church in her leather jacket and jeans.

It takes her five extra minutes to work up the courage to go downstairs, where her parents are sitting at the breakfast table. Her father, as usual, is reading the morning paper, a glass of orange juice to his left, a cup of black coffee steaming to his left. Her mother is nibbling on a piece of french toast as she flips through emails on her phone.

“Morning, Miss Rebecca,” Penny says fondly, announcing her arrival.

“I told you Penny, just Beca is fine,” she remarks warmly, offering the woman a polite smile before sitting down at the table. 

“I’m surprised to see you awake this early, Rebecca,” her father says in awe. “I didn’t realize that you were still interested in going to church.”

“I’m not,” Beca insists dryly. “Chloe invited me to this week’s service, and well, there’s no saying no to her.”

“Jack did say that you and his Chloe have been spending quite a bit of time together,” her father hums absentmindedly, flipping the page of his morning paper. “Says that he’s glad that Chloe’s going out making friends.”

“She’s nice,” Beca admits coyly.

“Just be wise about it. She has a clean reputation to uphold, Rebecca, and we both know that you don’t exactly have the best track record in Jackson,” he says with a heavy sigh, standing up from his place at the table. “I’m going to go smoke a cigar before the service.”

“Atticus! I thought you quit!” her mother scolds indignantly. 

“What’s it to you, woman?” her father responds bitterly. “I’ll do as I please. I’m going to die anyways, might as well go out on my own terms.”

Beca bites back a snicker at the look on her mother’s face, a combination of both appalled and annoyed.

Almost fifteen minutes later, her father returns from his office, announcing his arrival with a stubborn clear of his throat, informing his wife and daughter of his wanting to leave. Beca gets up from the table without much thought, and with a roll of her eyes, her mother is soon to follow.

The car ride to the church is awkward and silent; her parents don’t even listen to the radio, so there’s no music to buffer the tension with. But Beca makes due. She doesn’t think she’s ever been more grateful to show up to church in her life until they pull into the church parking lot and she gets out of the car.

The minute she steps into the chapel, she’s bombarded by uneasy glances and whispering from people that she’d known the names to years ago, but has long since forgotten. Her thoughts are pulled away from the naysayers, however, when she is pulled into a firm hug by Chloe, who is dressed in a beautifully modest sundress and a wide-brimmed hat.

“You made it!” she exclaims cheerfully. “Beca, I’d like for you to come and meet my family, if you’d like.”

Beca forces a smile and nods. She figures it’s better than standing around awkwardly while every man and his wife stare at her and whisper. Chloe seems oblivious to the tension she has caused by showing up to church, and with excitement, drags Beca through the aisles of pews until they’ve made it up to the front.

“Mama,” Chloe says warmly as they stand in front of a thinning woman wearing a purple headscarf. She tugs Beca closer to her and gestures towards the small brunette, who awkwardly smiles and waves at the woman. “I’d like for you to meet Beca Mitchell.”

Beca’s expecting an uneasy smile, but Mrs. Beale stands up from the pew and pulls her into a surprisingly strong hug, in spite of her illness. When she pulls away from the hug, Mrs. Beale is smiling at her.

“Beca,” she says fondly, patting the open space beside her on the pew. “Please, come and join us for this Sunday’s service. I’ve heard many lovely things about you from Chloe.”

She lets out a sigh of relief, offering Mrs. Beale a gracious smile before taking a seat, Chloe following ensuite.

“Mama, where’s Celia? I wanted her to meet Beca,” Chloe asks as she scans the rows of pews for her sister.

“She’s out in the parking lot waiting for some friends from school to come,” Mrs. Beale replied nonchalantly. “I’m sure she’ll be back in any minute now." She turns her attention back to Beca, studying her thoughtfully. "So Beca, Chloe tells me that you're a musician."

Beca feels her face turning red.

"Yeah, I'm in a band," she admits with embarrassment. "It's a pretty sweet gig. I get to meet a lot of very interesting people, and I get to preform in front of decent crowds."

"She's really good, Mama," Chloe chimes in excitedly. "I've heard her play a few times, and she's really talented."

"I'm really not that great," Beca insists nervously. "I would love to do music for the rest of my life, but I have the same dream as a million girls my age do. It's been four years now, and we still haven't made our big break, so we'll probably have to give it up at some point, but we'll see."

"Don't give up on your dreams," Mrs. Beale says insistently. "I pray that God gives you a sense of direction and some good news. I'm sure that you're talented; if my Chloe thinks so highly of you, I would have to say that she's probably right."

Beca is just about to respond when  a man’s voice exclaims loudly from Beca’s left, and she watches in awe as a tall, young man with a sharp jawline and a clean, All-American look swoops in front of the pew to help Chloe up and pull her in for a chaste kiss.  Chloe’s cheeks flush with embarrassment at the gesture and she quickly pulls away from him, shooting both Beca and her mother an apologetic smile. Mrs. Beale seems unbothered by the man, instead, offering him a friendly smile.

“Not in church, Tom,” Chloe scolds him gently. 

“You must be the famous Beca that everyone’s been buzzing about,” Tom says with a cheeky smirk, studying her curiously as though he can’t believe that  _ this  _ is Beca Mitchell, as though he imagined somebody completely different than the girl in front of him. “I’ve heard much about you. It’s a pleasure.”

He reaches out his hand, and though every bone in her body wants to spit at him and his stupid smirk, she forces her most polite smile, usually only ever reserved for Aubrey, and shakes his hand. 

“I’m so sorry, but who are you?” she asks, overplaying her confusion and forcing herself to smile. “I’m sure that Chloe’s mentioned you at some point in our conversation, but to be quite honest, we don’t really talk much about other people.”

Tom seems dissatisfied with her response, and he makes a face as though he’s swallowed something sour. But when he realizes that he is in the company of others in a very public space, he quickly covers it up. If Mrs. Beale and Chloe notice, they don’t say anything. Mrs. Beale has since turned around and engaged in a conversation with one of the ladies in the pew behind them, and Chloe is nervously chewing on her bottom lip, studying the interaction between Beca and Tom.

“I’m Tom Harrington, the governor’s son, and Chloe’s  _ boyfriend _ ,” he reminds her, annunciating his last word and narrowing his eyes at her threateningly.

Beca can’t find it in herself to feel threatened by him. It takes everything in her not to laugh or roll her eyes, but by the way that Chloe is nervously watching them, she knows better than to do either.

_ She’s got a reputation to uphold, and we both know that your track record isn’t exactly the cleanest,  _ her father’s voice reminds her in the back of her mind.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tom,” she settles on, offering a well-meaning smile. “It’s lovely to finally put a face to the name. My sister has mentioned you a couple of times in passing.”

“Ah, yes, Hattie,” Tom remarks thoughtfully. “Very lovely woman. Her and Aubrey Posen are planning a big gala in my father’s honor. I’m assuming that I’ll see you there?”

“Actually, Tom, I think Beca’s going to be back in-”

“I can assure you that I will be there,” Beca says, cutting Chloe off mid-sentence. “I’m going to be in town indefinitely before heading back to California. Plus, who can turn down a good party?”

Tom seems unimpressed with this, but he swallows his distaste and instead presses a quick kiss to Chloe’s cheek.

“I’m sorry to be in and out so quickly, but I promised Harrison that I would go and sit with him. He wanted to discuss some business matters,” Tom says, pulling his suit jacket tighter to his body.

“Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, those Posens are impatient,” Beca remarks with a smirk as Tom walks away, earning her a playful smack on the arm from Chloe.

“He’s not that bad, Bec,” Chloe insists with a desperate smile, almost as though she’s trying to convince herself, too. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Beca says with a shrug. “Who you’re with is your business, Chlo. I’m not going to judge.”

Chloe doesn’t seem convinced by this, but she lets it go.

“So what’s this week’s service about?” Beca asks curiously in an attempt to change the subject.

Chloe shrugs.

“I dunno,” she admits earnestly. “Daddy doesn’t let anyone get a sneak preview of his sermons. We find out when the rest of the congregation does.”

Before Beca can make a witty remark, the organist starts playing and the choir starts to lead the congregation in a sermon. Chloe playfully nudges Beca in the arm with her bony elbow, and puts her finger on the measure that they’re on. Graciously, Beca smiles and then begins to follow along.

She tries her hardest to listen to what Reverend Beale is saying, but instead, she’s distracted by the way the light from the stained glass windows is streaming in through the church at the perfect angle, and drawing unprecedented attention to Chloe’s eyes. She loves the thoughtful way that Chloe looks as she listens intently to the service, the way that she sits so ladylike, her legs crossed at her ankles, her fingers interlocked as her hands sit primly in her lap. There is something captivating about just observing her that makes Beca feel as though she’s died and gone to heaven.

The realization of her thoughts hits her, and an embarrassed blush creeps into her cheeks, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach.

_ Fuck, I’m catching feelings for Chloe Beale. _


	9. she smiled like a georgia summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for starters, i wanted to thank everyone for the wonderful comments; it means the world! a lot of people have actually made comments about how accurate this is to southern life. i have actually never lived in the south; i'm a pennsylvanian through and through, so to hear that just amazes me because i did very little research before writing this.
> 
> enjoy this special chapter. things are about to get real interesting pretty soon, so stay tuned. this is probably my favorite chapter that i've written for this fic so far!
> 
> title is from "girl named tennessee" by needtobreathe

Speaking of things on the list that Beca thinks she’d never have to do again in her lifetime. 

“Atticus!” her mother shrieks from somewhere in the house. “The caterers are here! Penny, make sure that the hallways are all swept and dusted, please!”

They’re hosting a party endorsing Jefferson Posen’s upcoming mayoral run. It’s an election year, after all. Beca’s pretty sure that no one’s stupid enough to oppose him. In Jackson, the majority of the people are rich, white and conservative. There are a few exceptions to that rule, but Jefferson Posen meets all the marks.

Beca is  _ dreading  _ the amount of glares that she’s going to get from Jackson’s finest, dreading having to deal with undermining remarks from Hattie and Aubrey the entire night, dreading having to smile nice and act like it doesn’t bother her, dreading having to see Chloe with  _ Tom.  _

It’s been a week or so since her discovery of her feelings for Chloe, and Beca’s tried her hardest to avoid Chloe without making it seem too obvious. They’ve had lunch once since, but other than that, their contact with one another has been limited.

“Rebecca!” Her mother’s incessant shrieks are getting closer and closer to her bedroom door, and Beca lets out a long exhale before forcing a pleasant smile on her face. It is important to not argue on tonight of all nights; that would be asking for chaos.

“Yes, mother?” she asks, turning from her vanity to face her mother, who is standing in her doorway. 

“The guests will be arriving within the hour,” her mother responds curtly. “I’d like to see you downstairs with the rest of us by seven.”

Beca nods in understanding before turning back to doing her makeup. She’s not sure why, but her mother waits a few minutes before leaving, the sound of her heels click-clacking down the hall slowly evanescing into mere echoes.

She’s finished by a quarter to seven, thankfully. She gives herself a one-over, pursing her lips tightly at the little black dress that her mother had sent her out to buy for the occasion. As she heads down the hallway and towards the staircase, she spares a glance for Beau’s room. She can’t help but wish that he was here; this is her first event hosted at the house without him by her side to make things more bearable.

“I didn’t realize that she was still home,” Hattie comments in annoyance from the bottom of the staircase, eyeing Beca suspiciously. “I could’ve sent the sitter home and had Rebecca watch the kids for free, if you would’ve just said somethin’ Mama.”

“Nonsense,” her father says with a shake of his head. “Rebecca is home, and we’ll make the most of her presence before she goes back to California. People know that she’s home. It’s best that we take advantage and sway their opinions from everything that happened all those years ago.”

“Nice to know that this family still sees me as a nice PR stunt,” Beca remarks gruffly as she takes her place at the tailend of the line. They’ll wait at the bottom of the staircase to greet guests as they arrive at Mitchell Manor. “Don’t worry, I’m on my best behavior tonight.”

Neither of them say another word, instead, their attention is immediately directed to the door as it swings open.

“Sorry I’m late, honey,” Harrison says as he enters, dressed in his nicest suit. He approaches them, pulling Hattie in for a quick kiss before redirecting his attention to their parents. Their father offers him a firm handshake and an approving grunt, and their mother smiles as he kisses her on the cheek.

“The kids giving you trouble for leaving them?” her father asks.

Harrison nods.

“Junior was giving the babysitter a run for her money before I even walked out the door,” he said with a sigh. “We really gotta work on that a little better, right honey?”

Hattie nods in agreement, offering him a meek smile.

“What time are your folks rollin’ in?”

“Probably within the next hour or so,” Harrison replies with a shrug. “They like to make an entrance. You know, typical Posen things. You should know this after all those years working with him, Atticus.”

Her father laughs shortly and nods in agreement.

“I suppose you’re right, Harrison,” he admits hastily, gesturing for his son-in-law to join him in line. “Please, come join us.”

Beca is shouldered over as Harrison takes Hattie’s side, and Beca can’t help but feel grateful for it. The last thing she wants is to stand next to Hattie; it just makes it easier for people to compare the two of them, and after a lifetime of being compared to Hattie, she’s not interested.

Guests start piling in through the door with their nicest dresses and biggest hats, hair coiffed and makeup done. They spare suspicious glances of Beca, but immediately make their way over to Beca’s parents and Hattie and Harrison, shaking hands and engaging in polite conversation.

“Lottie, I love what you’ve done with the Manor!” one of the ladies exclaims in awe. “It looks so different from the last time you hosted something. You’ll have to give me the name of your designer; Dick and I are looking to renovate soon.”

She watches with amusement as her mother purses her lips coyly, offering the woman a half-hearted response before directing her attention to the next lady in her nearest vicinity.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

The voice pulls her from her people-watching, and suddenly, she’s face to face with Chloe, Tom on her arm. She looks beautiful. Of course, she looks beautiful, it’s  _ Chloe _ . Her hair is straightened and pulled back in an elegant manner, and her makeup is modest. She’s wearing a beautiful black dress that’s the right amount of modest to protect her from being stared at for too long, but the right amount of alluring that people will still stare. 

She pulled from her thoughts by the clearing of Tom’s throat.

“It’s nice to see you again, Rebecca,” he says firmly, offering her a smile and holding out his hand for her to shake it. She does so, only out of kindness to Chloe, and for the sake of her parents’ reputation. She  _ did  _ promise to be on her best behavior, after all.

“Same to you, Mr. Harrington,” she replies curtly before returning her watchful gaze back to Chloe. “You as well, Chloe.”

“You look nice, Bec,” Chloe says with a soft smile. “You should dress like this more often.” Her eyes widen with panic afterwards, as she immediately begins apologizing. “Not that you don’t usually dress nice, you know it takes a special person to pull off a leather jacket.”

Beca can’t help but a laugh a little.

“Are your parents coming?” she asks politely. 

Chloe nods.

“Mama and Daddy are just behind. I think Celia’s staying home for the night, though. Mama and Daddy promised her a sleepover with one of her friends,” she remarks sadly. 

“I’m sure I’ll catch her some other time,” Beca concedes reassuringly, which makes Chloe’s eyes brighten just a fraction.

“We should probably go and mingle,” Tom says. Chloe shoots him a look, but he doesn’t seem to care all too much, so she offers Beca an apologetic smile as she’s dragged along to talk to more men in suits.

“Rebecca,” Aubrey says primly as she approaches the crowd, pulling her into a tense hug. “I hope you plan on keeping yourself entertained tonight, because if  _ anything  _ with tonight goes wrong, I  _ will  _ blame you. Understand?”

Beca’s not surprised. Aubrey’s always been full of threats. But she knows better than to respond snarkily. This is not third grade on the playground, this is adulthood. As much as she wants to tackle Aubrey to the ground and starting pulling her hair, like she used to do all those years ago whenever Aubrey pulled shit like this, she takes a deep breath and forces a smile to her face, and nods in understanding.

“Of course, Aubrey,” she replies cordially. “The last thing I’d want to do is ruin tonight.”

Aubrey still eyes her suspiciously, but says nothing more. She releases her tight grip on Beca’s arm before moving down the line to greet her brother and Hattie. They’re laughing about something, and Beca feels beyond irritated knowing that she’s going to have to spend the rest of the night listening to them make underhanded remarks at her expense.

The guests keep pouring in, and Beca watches with amazement as the room falls silent when Jefferson Posen and his wife, WillaJean enter the Manor. They’re immediately met with applause and dimmed cheers, but this ceases once her parents go up to greet them.

“Atticus!” Jefferson exclaims with a grin, pulling her father into a handshake and then a quick hug before pulling away. “Thank you for throwing this lovely party in our honor. It means the world that you would host us and endorse my campaign at your  _ beautiful  _ manor.”

Her father smiles modestly.

“Anything for the best mayor that this town has seen in decades,” he remarks. “I’d love to show you around the back later tonight. It’s not often I let strangers walk through the peach orchards.”

Jefferson’s eyes brighten at the proposition, and he nods.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Lovely to see you as always, WillaJean,” her mother says politely to Mrs. Posen, who looks exactly like Beca imagines Aubrey will in twenty years. WillaJean gently slips from her husband’s side over to her mother’s to give her a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Lovely to see you as well, Lottie,” she replies fondly. “I love what you’ve done with the place. I’m intrigued to see what you’ll do for Thanksgiving this year.”

Beca bites back a snicker. She knew that their families were close, but didn’t realize that they were  _ that  _ close. She returns her glance to Harrison and Hattie, who are somewhere across the room speaking with another young couple. She thinks she recognizes them from high school, but can’t place names to the faces; they all look the same, after all.

“I don’t believe you’ve met our youngest daughter, Rebecca?” her father says, pulling her from her thoughts. Jumping a bit, Beca offers both of the Posens a nervous smile. 

“It’s been a very long time, Rebecca,” WillaJean says, eyeing her with those watchful green eyes and pursing her lips, almost exactly like Aubrey did. “What brings you back to Jackson?”

“I came home for Grandmother’s funeral,” Beca remarks politely. “I thought it only best to finish the grieving process in the comfort of my childhood home, with my family. It’s what Grandmother would’ve wanted.”

WillaJean nods curiously.

“She’s certainly grown beautiful with age, I’ll give you that, Atticus,” Jefferson remarks thoughtfully, shooting Beca a cheeky grin. He doesn’t seem as concerned with her past, more concerned with her chest and waistline. It takes everything in her not to wrinkle her nose in disgust, so instead, her smile gets wider.

“Yes, it’s a shame that she hasn’t found a nice, young gentleman to share her life with,” WillaJean adds. “It would be a waste of all the beauty.”

“I suppose the same could be said for your Aubrey,” her mother says, and both Posens nod in agreement. 

“I swear to God, Aubrey’s got to be the pickiest woman I’ve ever met,” Jefferson says with a snicker. “I can’t tell you  _ how  _ many suitors she’s turned away just at the door. We pray that she finds someone that piques her interest.”

Beca bites back a snicker of amusement.

“What about God, Jefferson?” Jack Beale says, coming up from behind them, his eyes glistening with amusement.

“Oh, it was nothing you’d understand, Reverend,” Jefferson replies defensively. “It’s good to see you out and about. You look lovely. No Ginny tonight?”

Reverend Beale shakes his head.

“She wasn’t feeling very well tonight, so she opted to stay home with Celia instead,” he admits.

“Bless her heart,” her mother says with a genuine frown. 

“We’ve all been praying for her, Jack,” WillaJean adds. “She’s a good woman.”

She watches as Reverend Beale nods curtly in agreement, noticing the sadness residing in his eyes, sadness that he masks well with a polite smile.

“I should probably go and find Chloe, but I’ll catch up with you folks later,” he says with a tip of his head. “Beca, nice to see you.”

She smiles at him, feeling somewhat relieved to have his presence. As much as she hates that she’s been forced to be a spectacle at this ridiculous party, she’s glad that Reverend Beale is present. He has a comforting presence about him, and in spite of not knowing him all too well, he’s one of the few people that doesn’t whisper when she enters a room.

“I’m going to go mingle,” she says suddenly, excusing herself from her parents and the Posens, who don’t seem too interested in what she’s doing either way. 

She scans the crowd looking for Chloe’s familiar red hair, smiling with relief when she finds her standing over in the corner speaking with some girls their age. Tom is nowhere in sight.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hattie asks from behind her, and she feels her sister’s grip on her arm twisting her around so that they’re standing face to face.

“What do you want, Hattie?” Beca says, annoyed.

“I think you know what I’m gonna say,” Hattie says smugly. “But I’ll say it anyways. Chloe is not interested in you. She’s not Stella. She’s not just going to open her legs for you and welcome you into her bed. She’s courting Tom Harrington, one of the richest and most powerful men in the state of Georgia, so she sure as hell isn’t going to get involved with the likes of you. She’s got a reputation to uphold. So why don’t you just hop on the next flight back to California, and stay away like you’ve been doing for the last seven years?”

Before she can think, she feels a numbness in her hand as it reaches across to slap Hattie on the cheek. Hattie’s jaw drops, but no one else in the room seems to notice; they’re all too occupied by whatever they’re talking about.

“Fuck you, Hattie,” Beca says loudly. 

And then she storms out, heading towards the door, the truck keys gripped so tightly in her palm that she can feel them leaving indents in her hand.

“Beca!” she hears Chloe shouting after her.

But she doesn’t dare stop. She keeps moving, hastily slamming the truck door shut, and peeling out of the long driveway to the nearest bar. 


	10. try to prove the poets wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys are ready for it...some big reveals in this one!  
> title from "drive all night" by needtobreathe :)

Chloe finds Beca sitting at the bar, her hair already disheveled as she sloppily slams down an empty shot glass. There’s already a pile of shot glasses in front of her; Chloe counts maybe five or six. Letting out a long sigh, she quietly approaches Beca, taking her seat beside the brunette

“I’ll just have a ginger ale,” she tells the bartender, who shoots her a look that screams ‘wow, you’re lame’, before turning to help another customer.

“Hey,” she says with a smile, gently nudging Beca on the arm.

Beca turns to her with a frown before waving towards the bartender.

“C’n I get a-”

“She’ll get a water,” Chloe quickly explains.

The bartender nods, shooting Beca a sympathetic look before returning with a water and a ginger ale.

“Drink up,” Chloe insists to a pouting Beca, who just glares at her.

“Why di’n’t you just leave me alone?” Beca slurs. “I don want you to see me thi’ way.”

Chloe lets out a long sigh and frowns, studying Beca carefully. She’s always had this masked sadness about her that Chloe recognizes because it’s what she looks at in the mirror every day. They’re cut from the same stone, her and Beca. 

“Because I’m your friend and I care about you,” Chloe says conclusively, clasping her hands in her lap. “And you’re not okay right now.”

Beca scoffs.

“I’m  _ never  _ okay,” she mutters under her breath. “I should’ve gone back to California weeks ago, like I said I was gunna.”

“Is that why you slapped Hattie?” Chloe presses further.

Beca’s eyes widen.

“Dude, you saw that?” she asks in an embarrassed whisper.

“I’m pretty sure I was the only one other than Aubrey,” she admits with a shrug. “But yeah.”

Beca lets out a grumble of frustration before taking a long gulp of water from her glass.

“I’ve been wanting to slap Hattie for a while now,” she says with a dry laugh. “I’m just surprised that I made it this long before I did.”

Chloe manages an amused smile, taking Beca’s hand and helping her from the barstool. 

“Why don’t we go for a little walk?” she suggests. “Some fresh air might make you feel better, because I have a feeling, with all those shots that you just did, you’re gonna be feeling it later.”

“God, I’m such an idiot!” Beca groans. 

“I can’t say that I disagree with that, right now,” Chloe says with a tired smile as Beca leans on her for support. “Drinking is never the answer.”

“No, but it’s worth a shot,” Beca says giddily as they stagger their way through the bar. 

“I’ll be damned,” a voice calls out from nearby in a low whistle. “Beca Mitchell, as I live and breathe. Back in Jackson.”

Chloe’s never seen Beca look so upset, not even when she and Hattie had their little spat back at Mitchell Manor. 

“And we were just leaving,” Beca inserts carefully, eyeing the owner of the voice- a tall blonde wearing a pink tee shirt- distastefully.

“Got another pretty woman wrapped around your finger now?” the blonde says with amusement as she steps closer to them. For the first time since she’s spoken to them, her eyes dart to Chloe, studying her with an unimpressed look. “I suggest you back away from this one, Preacher’s Daughter. Didn’t Mama and Daddy warn you not to play with the Big Bad Dyke?”

She feels her cheeks burn red at the insult, and immediately snaps to look at Beca, who looks like she’s either going to seriously hurt this girl, or burst into tears.

“I suggest you back away and let us leave in peace,” Chloe replies assertively, shooting the blonde a glare. 

“Wow, she’s kinda feisty, Becs, I like it,” the blonde continues. 

“I want nothing more to do with you, Stella,” Beca says sharply, releasing her tight grip on Chloe’s arm and wobbling over towards the blonde woman until she’s up in her face, staring her dead in the eyes. “Leave me the fuck alone, got it?”

“And what’re you gonna do about it wobbles?” Stella asks with an amused laugh. “I don’t think you’re in the state to properly tussle.”

“Last time I tussled with you, I had to skip town,” Beca remarks distastefully. 

“I forgot how fucking  _ delusional  _ you are, Jesus!” Stella exclaims, turning back to Chloe. “Wouldn’t want to get too close to her, honey. She might catch feelings.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Chloe snaps, yanking Beca away from Stella. 

“Woah, Chlo, easy,” Beca mumbles under her breath before burping. 

“She asked you to leave her alone, and you didn’t,” Chloe continues, bristling. “We’re leaving this establishment, and if I so much as see you follow, I  _ will  _ contact the chief of police and file a complaint for harassment. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear, babycakes,” Stella spits out, narrowing her eyes at Chloe. “Loud and  _ clear _ .”

Chloe lets out a sigh as she heaves Beca up so that she can wrap her arm around her shoulder, and after what feels like an hour, they manage to make it back to Chloe’s car.

“What about the truck?” Beca asks in a whisper.

“We’ll come and get it tomorrow,” Chloe assures her as she helps her into the passenger’s seat and buckles her in. “I’m gonna take you home.”

Beca’s eyes lit up with panic.

“No, please don’t,” she whines. “I can’t go back there. Not like this, and definitely not after what happened with Hattie. My parents will  _ kill  _ me.”

“Not that home, silly,” Chloe corrects her. “We’re going to my house.”

Beca lets out a heavy sigh, as though she’s not particularly pleased with that option either, but the look on Chloe’s face tells her that there’s no getting out of this one.

“Fine,” she grumbles, clearly annoyed. 

“So do you wanna tell me what that was back there?” Chloe asks carefully after they’ve successfully pulled out of the gravel parking lot and made their way onto the main road. 

“Not particularly,” Beca huffs, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “But I don’t think I have much of a choice at this point.”

“Who was that, Beca?” Chloe asks, her voice laced with genuine concern. “And what did you do to make her hate you so much?”

“Stella?” Beca repeats, letting out a dry laugh. “She was my big brother’s girlfriend.”

She lets out a long sigh before stopping halfway through, her face turning a ghastly white.

“You’re gonna want to pull over,” she directs Chloe sharply.

Chloe wastes no time pulling to the side of the road, and just in time. No sooner has she stopped the car, Beca is jumping out of the passenger’s side and retching into the weeds.

“I fucking hate whiskey,” she grumbles under her breath once she’s finished, wiping her mouth on her arm before getting back into the car.

“Are you sure that you’re good?” Chloe asks her gently. “We could always sit here a bit longer.”

Beca shakes her head.

“Not right here,” she says with a sigh. “If you take a right up on that dirt road, it’s a private drive, and we can just sit there and talk for a bit.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Bec?” Chloe asks worriedly. “If it’s a private drive-”

“The woman that used to take care of me as a girl lives there,” Beca cuts her off quickly. “Helena won’t call the cops on us.”

Chloe sighs before finally nodding. It doesn’t take her long to take the turn, and once she’s satisfied with where she’s at, she parks the car. 

“How much do you know about Beau?” Beca asks soberly as she turns to face Chloe for the first time since they’ve gotten in the car.

“Just the little that you’ve told me about him,” Chloe admits tiredly. “Lilith mentioned him once or twice in conversation, but honestly, your family doesn’t really talk much about each other.”

Beca lets out a dry laugh.

“Not unless it’s something negative,” she admits coarsely.

There’s a pregnant pause between them, the silence filled with the sounds of crickets chirping out in the fields, and the running crick water. 

“Beau was my big brother,” she begins thoughtfully, a nostalgic smile passing across her face. “We were like two peas in a pod, always getting into trouble. He was my best friend. He was the one that introduced me to music. We had these grand plans to go off to California and start a band. We were gonna make it big.”

She can tell that Beca is uncomfortable by the way that she fidgets in her seat and constantly avoids making eye contact. Chloe offers her a reassuring smile before gingerly taking Beca’s hands into her own, squeezing them lightly. Beca smiles the slightest, but it drops from her face as she continues her story.

“After he died in that motorcycle accident, my entire world fell apart,” she continues with a shuddering breath. “Stella was his girlfriend at the time. We were already close before; anyone close to Beau was close to me. But after the funeral, we leaned on each other for support a lot.” She lets out a long sigh, finally looking up at Chloe. “You remember when I said I went apeshit after losing Beau?”

Chloe nods.

“I was drinking pretty heavily at the time, worse than I did tonight,” she admits with a humorless laugh. “I used to get into all sorts of antics, just because I was drunk and angry at the world. Mostly at my parents and Hattie. They brushed everything under the rug after the funeral. I mean, they didn’t give a rats ass. They cared for about a second, and then, it was just like he never existed in the first place. Not that they cared about him when he was alive, anyways. My father only wanted him to take over the family business, and Mother wants whatever Father wants.”

“Beca, that’s awful,” Chloe sympathizes.

“One night, when I was particularly drunk, I snuck out of the house and walked all the way to where Stella lived,” Beca continues soberly. “I threw rocks at her window to get her to come down, and she did. We got into her car, and we drove up to the old water tower. We were only going to talk.”

“Beca-”

“They caught us together,” Beca says, her face void of any emotion, her eyes distant as though she’s remembering the event. “Two, naked teenage girls, fucking underneath in the water tower. Shit like that doesn’t fly here in Jackson. You’re expected to have the husband with Southern values and live in a house with a white picket fence and two point five kids and go to church every Sunday. You’re not supposed to be a,” she pauses. “ _ Deviant.  _ Like me.”

“Stella’s father is Macon Clearwater, one of the wealthiest men in town. He was going to go into business with my father, but the deal fell through after they caught us together,” she admitted. “So in one fell swoop, I managed to fuck up my reputation, my family’s reputation, and a business deal that could’ve helped make my father millions more than he already does. I don't blame for hating me. I'd hate me, too. I lasted maybe a week before packing a bag and withdrawing all the money out of my savings account, and I took off to California and never looked back. I left them a note telling them where I'd gone. They didn't send for me once,” she finishes dryly. “Sure you want to be friends with me still?”

“Why wouldn’t I, Beca?” Chloe asks confusedly. “You’re a good person. You’re not the same person that you were back then, and you were hurting when all of that happened. You can’t really believe those things that people say about you.”

“Hear anything enough times, and you’ll believe it,” Beca reminds her with a sad smile. 

Chloe’s grip on her hands tightens.

“I think that you’re meant to love who you’re meant to love,” she says gently. “To love anyone at all is a feat in itself. Just as long as you’re honest and own up to your mistakes, I don’t see why it should be such a big deal.”

“That’s why Hattie and I got into a spat, you know,” Beca says with a chuckle. 

“What?”

“At the party, when I slapped her. She told me to back off you because I wasn’t going to be like Stella and submit to what I wanted you to do,” she continues dryly. “That you could never like me in the way that I want you to.”

“Well, do you?” Chloe asks quietly. “Like me?”

“Chloe,” Beca says with an embarrassed laugh. “I can’t talk about this with you.”

Chloe lets out a long sigh before restarting the car again. They don’t say a word the rest of the ride back to Chloe’s house. Only when she gets out of the car does she realize that Beca’s asleep in the passenger’s seat.

With a quiet laugh, she watches the corners of Beca’s lips twitch as she sleeps. She’s careful as she guides a half-awake Beca out of the car and in through the front door of her house.

“Rough night?” her mother remarks with an amused laugh as they walk through the living room. 

“You have no idea,” Chloe whispers with a shake of her head. “I’m going to tuck her into bed, and then I’ll be down.”

Her mother nods, offering Chloe a soft smile.

“You’re a good friend, Chloe.”

Chloe nods, before skillfully guiding Beca up the stairs and into her bed. Beca is surprisingly heavy for someone so tiny (Chloe’s sure that it’s ninety percent liquor at this point), but she manages to get Beca changed into a pair of her old sweats, and tuck her into bed. 

She grabs her garbage can and sets it next to the bed as a precaution, and goes to the bathroom to grab some Advil and a glass of water to set on the nightstand; Beca’s going to have a killer hangover when she wakes up in the morning.

Even though her work is done, she can’t quite bring herself to leave yet. She watches the rhythmic way that Beca’s chest rises and falls as she sleeps, dead to the world. 

She hears movement from the living room, and is reminded of her promise to her mother, so she forces herself to stand up from where she’d been sitting at her desk. Before leaving the room, she bends over and presses a gentle kiss to the top of Beca’s forehead.

“I like you, too,” she admits quietly.

Chloe leaves the door half-cracked before heading down the hall, the weight on her chest a little less heavy.


	11. you’re a selfish little lover, a hot and cold hit and run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to the commenters; thank you so much for your kind words. i'm actually hoping to wrap this fic up within the next couple of days for the hell of it. someone said something about the homophobia in this novel. as a fellow gay, i can assure you, it upsets me as well, but i'm just trying to make this as authentic as possible to what it's like to like in a small town in the south (and just small towns in general). 
> 
> but in other news, rating changed so you all know what that means ;) i slaved over this (i hate writing smut soooo much) so enjoy losers
> 
> chapter title from "satisfy me" by anderson east

Beca wakes up the next morning in a room that is not her own. Her senses are assaulted by the brightness of sunlight shining in through the window. She frowns, recalling the night in a whirlwind of events; slapping Hattie, getting incredibly drunk at the bar, Stella, and then-

She carefully turns to her left to see Chloe sound asleep in the bed, curled tightly into the covers, her hands resting underneath her chin. It breaks her heart to get up; she wants nothing more than to lay here with Chloe until they’re nothing but bones, but she knows that would be against her better judgment.

_ She’s not Stella. She’s not just going to open her legs for you and welcome you into her bed. She’s courting Tom Harrington, one of the richest and most powerful men in the state of Georgia, so she sure as hell isn’t going to get involved with the likes of you. She’s got a reputation to uphold. So why don’t you just hop on the next flight back to California, and stay away like you’ve been doing for the last seven years? _

Hattie’s words replay in her head, and as much as she hates to admit it, Hattie is  _ right _ . Chloe deserves  _ better  _ than her. She deserves someone who can give her the world and so much more, not a bum reputation and a hell of a lot of emotional baggage. 

She spares one last look at Chloe before gently climbing back into her dress from the night before, and then slipping out of the room.

It’s quiet downstairs; it doesn’t seem like anyone else is awake. Beca takes great care to slip out of the house without making a sound, and then she begins her walk back to the bar to pick up her truck.  The air is thick with humidity, but it’s still somewhat cool outside; a nice contradiction that makes the walk a little more bearable. Thankfully, Chloe doesn’t live too far off from the middle of town. She shudders, thinking of how long the walk would be from Mitchell Manor.

She is grateful to see her truck, still sitting in the gravel parking lot in front of the bar, and spares no time getting inside of it. She just starts driving aimlessly without a real purpose, and before she knows it, she’s driving down the winding dirt road that leads her straight to Helena.

Her eyes gently brush over to the spot halfway to the house that she and Chloe had sat in the car and had that conversation.

“God, Beca, you’re such a fucking  _ idiot _ ,” she mutters to herself.

She’s never been adept at dealing with change, so why would now be any different? The feeling in her gut tells her that everything with Chloe is never going to be the same again. 

“Beca?” a voice croaks out from the front porch as she climbs out of the truck.

She cracks a smile and waves once she sees Helena, bundled up in blankets on her porch swing. 

“I didn’t realize you knew how to wake up so early. The Beca I know wouldn't be up well before noon,” Helena supplies with amusement, patting the open seat beside her. “Come, sit.”

Beca happily obliges, pressing a quick kiss to Helena’s cheek before settling into the spot beside her.

“Do you think that I’m a bad person?” she wonders aloud.

Helena lets out one of her loud, belly laughs, and for a second, Beca forgets that she is old and sick. It’s almost like they’re sitting back at Mitchell Manor, back when things were as good as they were going to be.

“Oh, child, why on  _ Earth  _ would you think you’re a bad person?” Helena asks curiously, her smile slowly fading as she studies Beca with motherly concern.

“Because everyone else tells me that I am,” Beca admits uneasily. “Because I’m not the person that everyone else wants me to be.”

“Well, you and I both know that you’ve never been one to fill the shoes other people want you to,” Helena says with a small chuckle, bringing her arm up to rub Beca’s back reassuringly. “But if this is about that nonsense with Stella, they’re all a bunch o’ morons.”

Beca laughs at the sentiment.

“I slapped Hattie last night,” she admits, earning her a smack on the arm from Helena.

“Rebecca Elaine Mitchell!” Helena scolds her, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “I thought that you were raised better.”

Beca scoffs at the remark, rolling her eyes.

“Oh please,” she replies. “I’m surprised that I didn’t slap her sooner. Somehow, she’s gotten far bitchier than she was seven years ago.”

“I can only imagine,” Helena says with a long sigh. “What did she do  _ this time _ ?”

“I’m starting to think she was kind of right this time,” Beca confesses, biting at her bottom lip. “There’s this girl-”

“Ah,” Helena says knowingly. “Always a girl. So  _ that’s  _ why you’ve stuck around all this time. I was wondering why you weren’t back in California.”

Beca rolls her eyes once more before continuing, her cheeks burning from embarrassment.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “She’s courting the governor’s son, and he promises all of the things that I can’t.”

Helena shakes her head.

“You severely underestimate the power of love,” she replies. “I think you and this girl need to sit down and have a serious conversation.”

“I can’t ruin our friendship anymore then I already have after last night, Helena,” Beca grumbles. 

“It’s too late for that, Beca,” Helena shoots back. “Once your feelings change like that, it’ll never be the same as it was before. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I can’t  _ love  _ Chloe,” Beca says angrily. “It just doesn’t  _ work _ like that for a multitude of reasons.”

“All I’m hearing are excuses,” Helena replies. “What happened to the Beca that I used to scold all the time for not keeping her mouth shut? For defying the rules even when she _knew_ she should listen?"

“She died with Beau,” Beca retorts sharply, wincing at the harshness of her words.

“Well, I suggest that you resurrect her,” Helena supplies thoughtfully. “Because this will eat you alive, Rebecca, and you deserve far better than that.”

“She came after me, you know,” Beca admits coyly, a small smile cracking on her face. “She helped me out of the bar, and even defended my honor to Stella. She tucked me into her bed and changed me into some new clothes.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me."

* * *

A week passes, and she still hasn’t seen Chloe. As much as she wants to, she can’t bring herself to have that conversation yet; she’s not ready. So instead, Beca buries herself in her music and long walks out in the peach orchard, trying her hardest to relive all of the happy memories of her youth.

She’s spending the afternoon in the peach orchard, the sun beating high above her. She likes to roam between the trees in the orchard, until Mitchell Manor is no longer in sight. She’s spent the past few afternoons coming out with a little picnic basket of food and a book from her grandmother’s collection, where she stays put until the sun starts to set.

She’s just starting to settle down against her favorite peach tree in the orchard, when she hears it. 

“Beca Mitchell!”

It’s faint at first, but when she jerks up her head, she is surprised to see a very unhappy Chloe marching towards her, and immediately stands up from her spot on the ground.

“Chloe?” she asks in confusion, studying the redhead curiously until she’s standing a mere inches away from her.

“How dare you!” Chloe shouts, bristling angrily. 

“Chloe, I’m confused,” Beca begins slowly. “Whatever you’re angry about, you’re gonna have to tell me because-”

“One whole  _ week _ !” Chloe continues, cutting her off quickly. “A whole  _ week  _ that I haven’t heard from you, and _you’re_ confused?”

“I needed space?” Beca says weakly, though it's more of a question than a statement.

The only other time she’s seen Chloe this upset is when she defended her to Stella in the bar, and even that doesn’t begin to describe how  _ angry  _ Chloe is right now.

“I don’t just confess my feelings to anyone, Beca,” she continues. “I mean, come on, I’m the preacher’s daughter for Pete’s sake. Not like I can go around shouting it from the rooftops.”

“Chloe, what are you talking about?” Beca asks in awe, even more confused than she was already. “Am I forgetting a conversation that we had the other night? Because I’ve gotta say, I was pretty drunk.”   


“I like you, you idiot!”

Beca swears that she feels like her heart is going to make its way out of her chest, it’s beating so hard. For the first time, she studies Chloe,  _ really  _ studies. As angry as she looks, she still looks beautiful. Her red hair is a bit frizzy from the humidity, but she’s wearing a white sundress, and Beca swears that she’s never been so radiant.

“Oh,” is all she can manage, she is so shocked.

“Oh,” Chloe repeats frustratedly, baby blues ablaze. “I put my heart out there, and all you have to say is ‘oh’?”

The next minute is the most intense minute that she’s ever experienced in her life. One moment, Chloe’s standing there, bristling, and the next thing she knows, Chloe has her pinned to the peach tree, her lips pressed desperately against Beca’s in a frantic kiss. 

Beca can’t complain, one of her hands tangled in Chloe’s hair, the other resting on the small of Chloe’s back, pulling her impossibly closer, their bodies moving flush against one another with wanton need.

She shudders when they break apart from their kiss for a split second, feeling her throat tighten with that familiar need as Chloe’s eyes meet with hers, and then she feels Chloe take her hand and guide it towards the hem of her dress.

“Are you-”

“Beca,” Chloe says sharply, her voice husky with desire. “I think I’m going to spontaneously combust if you don’t do something about it.”

Before she can even think of how to respond to that, she feels Chloe’s lips placing sloppy kisses along the nape of her neck, and that’s all that it takes to spur her on. She flips them so that Chloe’s back is pressed up against the peach tree, quickly sinking to her knees before lifting the skirt of Chloe’s dress.

She hums in approval at the lace underwear that Chloe’s wearing underneath, and wastes no time slipping them down to Chloe’s ankles. Chloe lets out a whimper of delight when Beca’s lips press to the insides of her thighs, and Beca swears that she’s died and gone to heaven hearing a sound so glorious.

Spurred on by the whimpers, she presses closer up towards Chloe’s soaked center. Beca’s not sure whether to be appalled by this or the fact that she’s about to go down on  _ preacher’s daughter Chloe Beale,  _ or  _ both. _

The moan of pleasure that leaves Chloe’s lips is enough for her to forget about any thoughts going through her head, and instead, focusing on pleasuring Chloe in the best possible way she can. She keeps a steady rhythm going with her tongue, moaning as she feels Chloe’s fingers tangling in her hair. 

Beca can tell that she’s close as Chloe’s moans become more and more desperate, and she picks up her pace, trying to sneak in a breath every now and again. She thinks that she’s going to suffocate from oxygen deprivation in the exact moment that Chloe tumbles over the edge, her thighs clamping tightly around Beca’s head, but honestly, she can’t think of a better way to go.

She’s even more stunned when Chloe pulls her up so that they’re standing face to face again, and kisses her like it’s the last chance she’ll ever get.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Beca breaths out in shock between kisses with Chloe, their antics coming to a halt. “I thought- aren’t you supposed to like, wait until marriage?”

Chloe lets out a deep, throaty chuckle, shaking her head at Beca in amusement.

“I’m not as good and innocent as everyone thinks,” she admits, her pupils dilating. “I did my fair share of experimenting in college.”

“And Tom?”

“Tom is just a pipe dream that my parents want for me,” Chloe admits distractedly as she presses kisses down Beca’s collarbone, lifting her shirt over her head and tossing it onto the ground with reckless abandon. “Enough about Tom. Your turn.”

How can she argue with that?


	12. give it a minute, we’re dancing in it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of a slow chapter, but i promise, it'll get more interesting within the next few updates. i'm anticipating wrapping this up by the end of the week, so expect an interesting conclusion VERY soon!  
> i have some pretty exciting ideas in store for the next couple months, so stay tuned!  
> title is from "i won't run from it" by big red machine!

The next couple of weeks are blissful, and honestly, Beca is losing track of the time. It feels like her grandmother’s funeral was just yesterday, but before she knows it, she’s been in Jackson for almost two months now.

“Beca, when the hell are you getting back out here?” Stacie asks impatiently, frowning visibly on Beca’s laptop screen. 

She turns to her left, lips twitching with amusement at Chloe, who is sleeping upright against her bed frame, having fallen asleep reading a book.

“Yeah, Becs, we miss you,” Jesse pouts. “These two are no fun.”

She lets out a long sigh. It seems like a lifetime ago that she was living in California in that shoebox of an apartment, sleeping through the days and going wild every night, making the most of her twenties. She turns back to Chloe, and frowns. How can she leave Chloe behind, when things are so beautiful between them?

She shudders at the thought of the mindblowing sex, of the nights she’s spent sneaking around with Chloe, of all of the interesting places that they’ve-

“Helloooo?” Stacie says impatiently, snapping her fingers at Beca. “Earth to Beca!”   
“Sorry,” she apologizes, though her tone is far from apologetic. “I really don’t know when I’ll be back, Stace. Honestly, things with my family are kind of messy right now and it doesn’t feel right to leave without at least attempting to fix it.”

“Since when have you ever been interested in what those stuffy pricks think of you?” Stacie scoffs in disapproval. “I say you get that perfect little behind of yours on the next flight out to Cali so that we can get back to life as usual.”

“I’m sorry, Stacie, I just  _ can’t, _ ” Beca insists. She feels movement beside her, and notices that Chloe is now awake, watching her curiously, sleep still in her eyes. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you guys later this week.”

She hangs up the call before either of them can protest.

“Who was that?” Chloe asks, pressing a soft kiss to Beca’s lips before nestling up against the brunette’s shoulder. 

“My friends from back in California,” Beca hums thoughtfully. “Jesse and Stacie.”

“Speaking of California,” Chloe says, a somber look on her face. “When are you heading back?”

Beca shrugs, her fingers dancing around Chloe’s thighs underneath the covers.

“I’m in no hurry to be back,” she admits nonchalantly. “I have far more... _ pressing _ matters to deal with here.”

She slips her fingers past the waistband of Chloe’s leggings, watching as she lets out a whimper of approval before immediately covering her mouth.

“And what would that be?” she manages in a breathy whisper as Beca starts to straddle her. 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

* * *

They carry on like this over the next couple days, much to everyone’s annoyance. Chloe manages to rope her into spending time with Hattie and Aubrey.

_ “It’s not  _ that  _ bad, Bec,” Chloe reminds her gently with a pout. “Do it for me? Promise I’ll make it up to you.” _

Of course, who can say no to Chloe? They’re still not her biggest fan, especially not Hattie, after their spat at her father-in-law’s endorsement party at the Manor, but they’re more polite than they were upon her return.

“I can’t believe that you’re actually  _ friends  _ with her, Chlo,” she hears Aubrey telling Chloe in a hushed conversation in Hattie’s living room. “She’s bad news. I’m sure you know by now; people like to talk.”

Chloe just shrugs absentmindedly as she fidgets with her hands.

“She’s really not that bad, Bree,” she replies with a long sigh. “Just give her a chance, and you’ll see that there’s a human being there.”

“And what does Tom think about this?” Aubrey presses further.

“What Tom thinks is irrelevant,” Chloe insists. “I can choose to spend time with whoever I’d like. It’s not like we’re engaged, and even if that were the case, he doesn’t  _ own  _ me.”

Aubrey seems displeased, and Beca  _ knows  _ that she’s holding back, but instead, she just lets it go, pursing her lips tightly and nodding. Beca clears her throat, making her presence known, and Aubrey quickly excuses herself.

“I have a lunch date with Hattie,” she mutters under her breath before gathering her things and leaving the house.

“How much of that did you overhear?” Chloe grimaces after Aubrey has left. 

Beca chuckles.

“Enough,” she admits. “But nothing Aubrey has to say bothers me. She’s all bark and no bite. I’ve never been afraid of her. All she is is an insecure rich girl.”

Chloe bites her lower lip, but doesn’t say anything; they both agree that it’s best not to talk about touchy subjects like Aubrey and Hattie.

“I have to head out, too,” Beca admits hastily. “I promised Helena that I’d paid her another visit today. She’s still not doing too well.”

Chloe frowns.

“I’m so sorry, Bec,” she empathizes. 

Beca shrugs.

“It is what it is,” she replies casually. “I’ve come to accept that a lot of things are out of my control. Why is this any different?”

They don’t say anymore. Beca peers around the kitchen to make sure that they’re alone before pulling in Chloe for a quick kiss, and then pulls her leather jacket on and heads out the door to her truck.

“You’ve been seein’ that girl,” Helena chastises the minute that she steps onto the porch. “What did I tell you?”

Beca scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Is it really that obvious?” she asks with embarrassment.

Helena shakes her head and laughs.

“If you’re worried about your parents or Hattie figuring it out, highly doubtful,” she says with a throaty chuckle. “They’ve never been observant, especially when it comes to you. They just make up their mind about you based on what they think.”

Beca nods in agreement, letting out a sigh of relief.

“So when do I get to meet her?” Helena presses further. “I haven’t seen you this happy since before Beau died. It’s refreshing.”

Beca lets out a nervous laugh.

“I dunno about that, Helena,” she admits earnestly. “I can ask Chloe though, see if she’d be interested.”

“Chloe,” Helena hums thoughtfully. “Beautiful name.”

“It’s fitting for her,” Beca agrees. “She’s very beautiful. You would love her.”

“Anyone that can make you smile like that again is worth keeping around, Beca,” Helena reminds her gently. “Jericho’s makin’ cornbread and goulash, your favorite, if you want to stick around for lunch?”

Beca smiles softly at the offer, but shakes her head.

“I’m actually supposed to be having dinner with my family tonight,” she replies with a frown. “Hattie and Harrison are coming over with the kids, so my presence has been requested.”

Helena shakes her head.

“Just don’t slap Hattie again and you’ll be golden,” she says with an amused chuckle.

“No promises,” Beca mumbles as she stands up from the porch swing and pulls Helena into a tight hug. “In the meantime, take good care of yourself, lady. I enjoy our talks.”

Helena presses a sloppy kiss to her forehead, making Beca blush.

“You take care, too,” she exclaims. “And bring that girl of yours by for dinner sometime!”

Beca’s halfway down the driveway when the blinding sunlight in her eyes alerts her to the fact that she has left her sunglasses at Chloe’s house. With a sigh, she takes a left off of Helena’s driveway and back towards town.

Chloe’s car isn’t there when she pulls into the driveway, and in spite of the fact that she has to rush home in time for dinner, she can’t help but feel disappointed. She knows Chloe said something about being out with Tom, though, and as jealous as she is, she can’t be mad; it’s not safe for them to be together publicly in Jackson.

“Beca,” Mrs. Beale says weakling with surprise as she opens the front door.

Beca is equally surprised to see Mrs. Beale up and moving; Chloe’s told her that she’s not doing well, that her time is becoming more and more limited with each passing day. She looks tired, Beca notices. She figures that her grandmother probably looked the same near the end.

“Don’t mind me, Mrs. Beale,” Beca says politely, offering the woman a gentle smile before scanning the living room. “I seem to have misplaced my sunglasses somewhere.

Mrs. Beale chuckles, shaking her head.

“You’re over here enough, Beca, that I think you should call me Ginny,” she admits lightly. “You’re welcome to stay for a bit, though. Chloe’s out with Tom for the evening, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”

As much as she knows she needs to be back to the Manor, she can’t find it in herself to turn down Mrs. Beale’s offer. Instead, she nods, making her way over to the kitchen island to where Mrs. Beale is standing.

“Anything I can help you with?” she offers politely.

Mrs. Beale shakes her head.

“I was just finishing off my meds for the afternoon,” she admits with a long sigh. 

Beca offers her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sure that that’s not easy to deal with,” she stutters nervously. “One of my biggest regrets is not coming home to spend time with my grandmother in her final days.”

“She spoke of you fondly,” Mrs. Beale says warmly. “She was a spunky lady, always had something interesting to say. It was nice to have that. I could surely use that now, Lord knows.”

She pauses for a minute to steal a sip of water.

“What do you say we move to the living room?” she suggests. “I’m afraid I can’t stand for very long anymore.”

Beca nods, immediately taking her arm and helping Mrs. Beale into the living room, only taking a seat once she’s made it safely to the loveseat.

“I can see why Chloe likes you so much,” she hums thoughtfully, studying Beca carefully. Beca feels her cheeks redden with a blush. “You’re a sweet girl, Beca. You’re good to my Chloe, too. I don’t know what it is about you, but she’s happier than I’ve ever seen her.”

“I’m sure that there’s more to the story,” Beca replies modestly. “I’m just returning the favor, honestly. Chloe’s been a good friend since I’ve come back home.”

“Be good to her when I’m gone,” Mrs. Beale says after a few moments of prolonged silence. “She’s going to need a good friend at her side when I’m gone.”

Beca nods in understanding. 

“Of course.”

“Now enough with this sad stuff,” Mrs. Beale exclaims, clasping her hands together before reaching for the TV remote. “What shall we watch?”

* * *

Beca _knows_ that she’s going to really get it by the time she finally makes it back to Mitchell Manor. It’s almost six-thirty, an hour past the time she was supposed to be back, but she’s sure that they haven’t even started dinner yet.

“Where the hell have you been, young lady?” her father scolds her from the sitting room the minute that she walks into the front door. 

“I was keeping Ginny Beale some company,” Beca explains softly. “She looked like she could use it.”

Her parents both purse their lips, but don’t say anything, and Beca can’t help but feel thankful that they’ve decided not to fight her on it.

“It’s good to see you again, Rebecca,” Harrison says warmly from Hattie’s left, where they’re sitting together on the couch. 

She offers him a polite smile before taking a seat in the only free armchair.

“No kids tonight?” she asks curiously upon noticing how quiet the Manor is.

“They’re outside running around the peach orchard with one of the help,” Hattie says primly with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure they’ll be back in at any given time. It’s almost dinnertime, isn’t it Mama?”

Their mother nods.

“It should be finished in about ten minutes, which is enough time for you to go and change into something more  _ appropriate, _ Rebecca,” she says condescendingly, narrowing her eyes in disgust at Beca’s leather jacket.

Beca fights the urge to laugh, instead, biting her cheek and nodding. 

They’re all sitting at the dinner table by the time she finally comes back down, in a sundress that Chloe forced her to buy the other day when they’d gone on a shopping trip.

“I didn’t realize you owned something other than black,” Hattie remarks, her voice tinged with amusement, as she takes her place at the table between her niece and nephew. 

“If you let go of preconceived notions and judgments, Hattie, then people just might surprise you a little less,” Beca replies snarkily, quietly thanking Penny as she sets a glass of ice water down in front of her. She turns her attention towards her father at the head of the table. “So what is the purpose of this lovely gathering, anyways?”

“Actually,” her father says, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin before folding his hands in front of him on the table. “We wanted to speak with both of you about the future of the company.”

Beca’s eyes widen in surprise at the mention of the company. It’s been a while since she’d been forced to endure any shop talks. She recalls all of the heated arguments that her father and Beau had had over the future of the company.

“Oh?” Hattie supplies, though she doesn’t seem too concerned.

“I’ve decided to pass the company down to young Mr. Posen, here,” he remarks thoughtfully, offering his son-in-law a cordial smile from across the table. Harrison simply nods knowingly. 

Beca’s never minded him, honestly. He’s much older than her, so she doesn’t know much about him; he’s quiet and stoic, and nothing like Aubrey. In the few times she’s been forced to interact with him, he’s been nothing cordial. She figures that being married to someone like Hattie, and having a sister like Aubrey, she has more pity for him than anything. 

“With the passing of your brother,” her father continues sharply. “I was worried about who would take over the company for a while, but after the past couple of years, I can safely leave it in Harrison’s  _ very  _ capable hands.”

“So does this mean that we’re inheriting the house?” Hattie asks hopefully, shooting Beca a childish smirk before returning her attention to their father.

He shakes his head.

“The property will still be split fifty-fifty between you and your sister,” he remarks gruffly. “Though I’m sure, if you spoke with Rebecca, she’d be more than willing to sell her half to you.”

“This is ridiculous!” Hattie whines shrilly. Beca has to bite the inside of her cheek to contain her amused laughter. “She’s been M.I.A for the past seven years, done nothing but ruin this family’s reputation, and she’s not even  _ living  _ here anymore!”

“All the more reason for her to reasonably sell you her half of the house,” their father replies matter-of-factly.

“Actually,” Beca says with a playful smirk. “I think I’d like to keep my half.”

Hattie’s jaw drops in disbelief.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“What do you know about me, other than what other people have told you?” she counters with a raise of her eyebrow.

Hattie falls silent, and before the conversation can continue. Penny and some of the other staff enter the room with filled plates, setting them down in front of the guests. The rest of dinner is a painfully dull affair; just as Beca has expected. It’s filled with painfully tense small-talk, and though she doesn’t miss the annoyed glares that Hattie sends her way, Beca, for the most part, is silent for the duration of the meal.

It’s seven-thirty before Hattie retires for the night with the excuse that her children have to get to bed. Beca knows that she’s just angry about their father’s news about the estate.

“Perhaps we were too quick to judge you, Rebecca,” her father admits to her thoughtfully as they’re in the sitting room that evening. “You’ve certainly matured since you’ve started hanging out with Jack’s daughter. Maybe we were wrong to think that you would be a bad influence on her. Perhaps, we should’ve considered that maybe she would be a good influence for  _ you _ .”

Beca bites back the witty remark, instead offering him a polite smile. She can’t remember the last time her father was so kind to her.

“Chloe is truly something special,” she admits thoughtfully. “She’s a good friend. I’ve learned a lot since she’s taken me under her wing.”

“They’re good people, those Beales,” he hums before taking a long drag from his cigar. “I sure hope that she settles down with that Tom fellow.”

Beca shrugs.

“In the end, I’m sure that Chloe knows herself well enough to decide what she needs and what she doesn’t.”

They sit in silence for a while. She’s surprised when her father offers one of his cigars, but takes it as a compliment as she wets it between her lips before lighting it. 

“Won’t Mother have a cow if she finds us smoking?” she asks amusedly.

“Her opinion is none of my concern,” her father responds carelessly, taking another drag from his cigar. “Besides, the house is in my name, not her’s.”

It’s another thirty minutes before he decides to retire to his study for the evening, and Beca decides that she should probably head to bed and get some rest.

She smiles as she looks at her texts, instantly opening the ones from Chloe.

**_Chloe:_ ** _ Missing you tonight <3  _

**_Chloe:_ ** _ Hoping to see you tmrw though. Lunch? _

She hastily types her reply.

**_Beca:_ ** _ I’d be delighted. _

* * *

“Beca!” 

The voice startles her on her walk through the WinnDixie parking lot, and she turns around to see Stella running towards her.

“I thought I made it clear in the bar the other night that I wanted nothing to do with you?” she says gruffly, turning back around and heading towards her truck.

“Beca, wait up, please,” Stella pleads, chasing after her.

Beca lets out a sigh of disapproval, but halts outside of her truck, setting her bags on the ground as she studies Stella carefully.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde apologizes. “For everything.”

“It’s a little too late for that, Stella,” Beca remarks unpleasantly. 

“Look,” Stella sighs with exasperation. “What happened between us was a silly mistake, and I’m sorry that you got caught in the crossfire. You have to know that the last thing I wanted was for either of our reputations to get damaged.”

“You’re right,” Beca says sourly. “But that’s easy for you to say. People don’t whisper about you when they see you around town.”

“Beca, I’m sorry!” Stella exclaims. “If I could fix it, I would. Beau would be super disappointed in me for letting this happen. He always spoke so dearly of you in the time that we were together. He really did love you.”

Beca exhales, studying Stella carefully. She’s still the same, scared girl that she’d been back when she’d been with Beau. For a minute, she forgets that seven years have passed between them. Her heart pangs with sadness as she recalls all the nights they spent with Beau, laughing and drinking around campfires with their friends. It pangs even more for the nights spent between the two of them, grieving the loss of the man they loved more than anything.

And she wants to forgive Stella. She wants more than anything for those times to come back. But she also recalls the whisperings in the hallways at school about her. 

_ “I hear that she forced herself on Stella Clearwater.”  _

_ “I heard that they were found naked up by the water towers.” _

_ “Wonder if Beau knew that his sister was a big ol’ dyke.” _

She can’t forget that. And she can’t forget how Stella let them say those things, and went along with it. How she let it get so bad that it eventually chased Beca out of town, a scared seventeen-year-old with a tarnished reputation, running for the hills before barely finishing her junior year of high school.

“I’m sorry,” she replies earnestly. “But I can’t.”

And before Stella can say anything, she picks her groceries up from where she’s set them on the blacktop, and heads towards the driver’s side of her truck, driving away without sparing Stella another thought.

She has more pressing matters. She turns up the radio, smiling as a Lynyrd Skynyrd song comes on, bringing her back a flood of memories of her and Beau sing-screaming this song together whenever they’d go for long rides in this truck, weaving in and out of Jackson's many dirt roads without a care in the world.

It seems fitting, as she takes a turn into the cemetery, parking her truck along the side of the road before getting out.

“Hey, buddy,” she whispers, feeling the tears prick at her eyes as she lays a bouquet of daisies at the foot of his gravestone. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. But I’m home.”


	13. but up till now, there ain't been nothing, that i couldn't leave behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting near the end here...so i want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for reading! it's been fun writing this story for y'all, and i have a couple new projects coming up (mostly oneshots) that i'm hoping you'll also enjoy!
> 
> title is from "feathered indians" by tyler childers

In the next passing weeks, Chloe finds herself torn between the indescribable bliss of her time with Beca, and the inevitable heartbreak that comes with watching her mother grow sicker and sicker. It’s almost like she’s torn between two worlds; one where she and Beca laugh as they lay together, half-dressed, in her bed, and another where she’s holding her mother through the night as she cries out from the pain of the cancer spreading throughout her body.

“I haven’t heard about Tom in a while,” her mother croaks weakly as Chloe makes her way into the bedroom with a bowl of chicken noodle soup. They both know that it’s a wasted effort; her mother hasn’t eaten much in the past couple of days. 

Chloe purses her lips, shuddering at the thought of Tom. It’s been a week or so since they’ve seen each other, and she supposes that that’s the silver lining in watching her mother die; she doesn’t have to be bothered with making appearances.

“Tom’s alright,” she admits with a shrug. “But I’m more concerned about you, Mama.”

“And I want to know that my little girl will be safe and happy when I leave this world behind,” her mother enforces with as much strength as she can muster.

Chloe can’t help but feel guilty, hiding this all from her. Not that she could ever come forward anyways, not right now, not  _ ever _ . It would crush her to know that her daughter was sneaking around with another woman.

“I will be, Mama,” she insists softly, pressing a kiss to her mother’s clammy forehead. “I’ll be just fine. Now, you rest, please.”

Her mother nods weakly, her eyes fluttering closed as Chloe tucks her into the covers more tightly.

“How is she doing?” Celia asks worriedly from in the hallway. 

It startles Chloe; she’s not expecting to see her younger sister. Celia’s been out of the house most of the summer, on shopping trips to the mall and horseback riding adventures with her friends. For that, Chloe is thankful; she wants Celia’s final memories of their mother to be protected. She longs for that innocence to remain intact.

“She’s resting,” Chloe says sharply. “So I suggest you go out and entertain yourself for the day. You don’t want to wake her.”

Celia nods, though Chloe can see how hurt she is.

“Maybe we can visit with her later,” she suggests with a long sigh. It’s a lie, but it’s worth it to see Celia’s eyes brighten the slightest before she turns away, muttering something about going up to her room.

Chloe heads to the kitchen to make herself some tea. She supposes it’s not very southern of her to enjoy hot tea so much, but she does; it soothes her. The kettle is heating on the stove when she hears a knock at the door. She smiles when she notices Beca standing on her front door with a bouquet of flowers; peonies.

“I thought your mom might want something colorful to brighten her day,” Beca offers sympathetically. 

Chloe welcomes her in quickly, and then pulls her in for a kiss. It’s cut short; they don’t want anyone else to see them together, but it’s worth it.

“Thank you, Bec,” she replies thoughtfully. “She’ll love them.”

“How is she doing?” Beca asks with a nervous grimace, almost as though she’s afraid that she’s crossing a boundary.

“Not great,” Chloe admits with a frown. “It’s not been easy the past couple of days; she hasn’t really been eating or sleeping. I mean, it’s longer than we expected anyways, but still.”

“Chlo, that can’t be easy to watch,” Beca chastises. “I’m so sorry.”

Chloe shrugs, a sad smile crossing over her face.

“It’s okay, Bec,” she assures her with a gentle kiss on the brunette’s cheek. She forces a bright smile as she pulls her kettle off the stove and pours the steamed water into her mug. “Tea?”

Beca shakes her head.

“I actually was stopping by to ask if you wanted to come to dinner with me tonight,” Beca offers meekly. “Helena, the woman who raised me, wants to meet you.”

“She knows about us?”

She watches as Beca’s face drops.

“Chlo, I’m so sorry-”

“Bec, it’s alright,” Chloe reassures her with a nervous laugh. “It will be nice to be open about things with someone who doesn’t care. If I could tell the whole world, I would.”

“But it’s not safe to do that,” Beca reminds her gently. “You see how people treat me. That’s the last thing that I want for you.”

“I can’t do that to Mama either,” Chloe says with a long sigh. “She keeps asking me about Tom and if there’s gonna be a wedding, and I just don’t have the heart to tell her that there won’t be one.”

Beca studies Chloe carefully as she takes a seat on the loveseat, patting the free space for Beca to join her.

“Are you sure that this is a good idea?” Beca asks aloud after a few moments of silence has passed between them.

She nearly spits out the sip of tea in her mouth.

“What do you mean?” she asks in awe.

“Chlo, with everything going on, the last thing you need is some big scandal breaking loose about you,” Beca explains worriedly. “Maybe we should press pause on all of this? Just until things calm down?”

“Beca, I can’t just press pause on this,” Chloe replies in an angry whisper. “You’re the only piece of happiness that I get in my day, and I can’t lose that.”

Beca seems hesitant, but she nods.

“If that’s what you want, then I want that too,” she hums, twirling a strand of Chloe’s hair around her index finger. “I just worry about you, is all.”

Chloe reassures her with a gentle kiss before pulling away. 

“What time is dinner?”

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Helena is charmed by Chloe. Beca smiles as she watches them chatting eagerly from across the kitchen table. She glances towards Jericho, who offers her a mischievous grin before helping himself to some more goulash.

“God, it’s been so long since I’ve had a home-cooked meal,” Chloe exhales after dipping some bread into the goulash. “This is fantastic, Helena. Thank you for having me over to your home.”

“Anything to meet the girl that makes Beca smile like an idiot,” Jericho supplies with a chuckle, earning him a playful smack from Beca, whose cheeks are bright red. 

“You really do make her happier than I’ve seen in a long time,” Helena admits thoughtfully with a hum as she takes a bite of food. “Maybe even happier than back when she and Beau would romp around and carry on like morons."

“Hey!” Beca exclaims defensively. “We were just having fun!”

Helena scoffs.

“Fun at  _ my  _ expense,” she grumbles under her breath with a shake of her head before turning back to Chloe. “I can’t tell you how many times I found this child head to toe in mud from playin’ out in that crick back there. Or how many times I caught her and Beau sneakin’ around ‘bout to play pranks on Hattie.”

“Not like she didn’t deserve it every time,” Beca pouts. 

Helena gives Beca a look of annoyance, which earns her an amused snicker from Chloe.

“So Chloe, what do you do?” Jericho supplies, changing the subject. “I don’t recognize you from around these parts.”

“My daddy is the preacher at the Baptist church,” Chloe admits with a sigh. “He moved here my first year of college at Tulane, so I never grew up here.”

“Tulane,” Jericho whistles in amazement. “You must be either smart or rich to be going there.”

Chloe blushes.

“I went there on a full-scholarship. I was a pretty good student in school,” she replies. 

“So what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in Jackson?” Helena pokes.

“My mama’s sick,” Chloe exhales with a long sigh. “So I’ve been home for a year takin’ care of her. I’m a registered nurse, so I’ve been lookin’ after her and stayin’ at the house to watch my sister.”

Helena shakes her head, muttering a silent prayer under her breath.

“God bless your soul, sweet girl.”

“How’d you and Beca meet?” Jericho asks, studying both girls carefully. “Honestly, I’m surprised this one even leaves Mitchell Manor these days.”

“Oh please,” Beca scoffs. “You’d leave Mitchell Manor if you had to deal with Mother and Father, too.”

Helena hums in agreement.

“Actually, we met at Lilith’s funeral,” Chloe replies with a sly grin. “I caught her smoking a cigarette in the church parking lot.”

“Typical, Rebecca,” Helena says with a shake of her head. “You can blame Beau for that one. Them two were always off smokin’ Spirits or whatever they could manage to weasel out of someone.”

Beca rolls her eyes.

“Still a habit that she can’t kick, clearly,” Chloe chastises.

They spend the rest of the evening talking around the table. Helena’s even prepared an apple pie for dessert, that they eat out on the porch with vanilla ice cream as the crickets chirp out in the field and the sun sets.

Chloe finds herself longing to stay forever by the time dusk has fallen and Beca is nudging her to leave. 

“It was real good to finally meet you,” Helena says as she pulls Chloe in for a tight hug.

“I can say the same about you,” Chloe replies thoughtfully. “And you too, Jericho.”

Jericho just tips his head at both women before excusing himself to go back inside the house, leaving the three women standing on the porch.

“Now you take good care of this one, Rebecca Elaine, you hear me?” Helena scolds Beca playfully. “She’s a keeper.”

Chloe snickers as she watches Beca get pulled in for a tight hug, and even more so when Helena presses a big, juicy kiss to her cheek.

“I love you, too, Helena,” Beca grumbles with faux-annoyance.

Helena waves at them from the porch as they drive off down the dirt road and back towards Chloe’s house.

“I can see why you and Hattie turned out so different,” Chloe says thoughtfully as they turn back onto the main road.

Beca chuckles.

“Helena’s like the mom I  _ wish  _ I would’ve had,” she admits. “She’s good people. She did a good job raising me and Beau.”

Chloe nods in agreement.

“Nightcap?” Beca suggests once they pull into the driveway at Chloe’s house. Chloe shakes her head, pressing a quick kiss to Beca’s cheek.

“I have some things that I have to take care of tonight,” she admits with a frown. “And then I’ll probably be up all night with Mama again.”

“Text if you need anything,” Beca says in a whisper, a small smile peeking at the corners of her lips.

She waits until Chloe’s inside and waving from the window before driving away, and Chloe relaxes as she sinks into the couch with a sigh.

“Celia!” she hollers from the stairwell, listening for her sister’s footsteps in the hallway.

“Yeah, Chlo?” comes her response.

“I’m headin’ over to the church to see Daddy,” she continues. “Text me if Mama needs anything!”

She grabs the keys to her car before heading over towards the church, her stomach churning. She hasn’t gone to the last couple of Sunday services; she’s been so busy looking after her mother that she’s felt bad leaving the house. But now, more than ever, she needs advice.

“Daddy?” she asks quietly as she enters the church, which is almost completely empty. 

Her father is sitting at the front row of pews, his eyes closed, his hands crossed in prayer. In this moment, Chloe decides, he looks just like any other man and less like a preacher.

“Daddy?” she repeats softly once she’s only a foot away from him.

He peels his eyes open and studies her carefully before inviting her to come and sit beside him on the pew.

“Everything okay back at the house, Chlo?” he asks worriedly.

Chloe nods.

“Mama’s still sleeping, thankfully,” she explains with a long sigh. “But I can’t say anything about tonight.”

He frowns, but quickly masks his sadness, almost as though he’s afraid of Chloe knowing that he feels it. 

“Oh,” he says. “Is there anything in particular that you’re here for, then?”

“I actually came for some advice.”

She nibbles on her lower lip as she studies him curiously, searching for a reaction, but his face remains neutral as he straightens his posture and turns his body so that they’re facing each other.

“What is it that I can help you with?” he asks softly in his preacher-voice.

“I have a dilemma of the heart,” she admits nervously. “I-I think I’m in love with someone else. Someone that’s not Tom.”

“Okay,” her father says, letting out a long sigh. “And this other gentleman?”

“He doesn’t offer the kind of security that Tom offers, but he’s so good and kind and respectful of me,” she says, smiling softly at the thought of Beca. “He would take good care of me. We would take good care of each other.”

“God will lead you down the right path,” her father insists. “Your faith will lead you to the right man. The decisions are made for us before we’re even a twinkle in our parents’ eyes.”

Chloe can’t help but feel skeptical. In all honesty, after all this time spent with Beca over the last month and a half, and watching her mother start to die before her eyes, Chloe’s faith has been shaky. She’s kept her doubts to herself, but this just pushes them forward.

_ How could God know what I really want?  _ she thinks dryly to herself.  _ When what I really want is to be happy with Beca, and for Mama to feel better. If God was real, he wouldn’t make either of those things so daunting. _

But instead, she just nods as her father pulls her into a tight hug, and presses a delicate kiss to her temple.

“We’re all God’s children, Chloe,” he continues softly. “And God has big plans for you, regardless which gentleman you end up with.”


	14. miracles are just too damn hard to find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for your continued patience. college work has been kicking my ass and i've been drowning in stress trying to get all of my finals done. here's the chapter you've all been waiting for, so brace yourselves; it's a big one. the final chapter of this fic will be released tomorrow <3
> 
> song title is from "ain't gonna drown" by elle king

“What do you think of Beca?” 

Chloe can’t help but ask the question as she and Celia are sitting on the back deck shucking corn. The house will be bustling with guests to celebrate their mother’s birthday in a few short hours. They’ve been helping to set up all day.

Personally, Chloe doesn’t think a birthday party with a bunch of guests to entertain is the best idea for their very sick mother who is on the verge of death, but it was Aubrey’s idea, and once her mother caught wind of it, she refused to take no for an answer.

“I like her just fine,” Celia hums daydreamily. “She treats you nicer than Aubrey and Hattie do, that’s for sure. And Mama likes her a whole bunch.”

Chloe lets out a thoughtfully sigh, a small smile pricking at the corners of her mouth at the thought of Beca. These past couple months have been some of the happiest of her life, and she couldn’t be more thankful.

“Yes, she really does,” Chloe replies thoughtfully.

The rest of the afternoon is spent blowing up balloons and making sure that dinner is in order. It’s almost six by the time Chloe makes her way up to her room to actually get dressed for the party. She’s dressed in a beautiful white sundress with her hair down like her mother likes it.

“My Chloe,” her mother croaks weakly from the end of the hallway. “So beautiful.”

She feels the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she approaches her mother. She’s gotten smaller and smaller in such a short period of time; Chloe’s pretty sure that she doesn’t weigh more than a feather at this rate. But she looks beautiful, wearing the purple headscarf Chloe bought for her and a nice purple dress to match.

“How is the birthday girl feeling today?” Chloe prompts, quickly wiping her eyes before approaching her.

“Tired, but happy to see everyone,” her mother admits softly. “It’ll be good to have some company.”

Chloe smiles and nods. Though she’s worried that such an event will exhaust her, Chloe doesn’t have it in her to say otherwise. She’s dying, after all; who is to refuse a dying woman’s wish.

“Is Beca coming?” her mother asks curiously.

“She is,” Chloe clarifies with a smile. 

“Good,” her mother says with a relieved sigh. “She’s a good girl, that Beca. Regardless of what Atticus and Lottie think of her, she’s nothing but sweet on you, and me.”

Chloe feels the blush come to her cheeks, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to, thankfully; the doorbell rings, signifying the arrival of their first guests.

“Hey!” Hattie exclaims, pulling Chloe in for a quick kiss on the cheek before entering the living room, Harrison in tow. He’s holding a present for them. “Sorry we’re a little early; we were eager to leave the kids with the sitter. They’ve been real pains lately.”

Chloe stifles her laughter.

“It’s alright, come on in.”

It’s not long before they’re joined by Aubrey and Mr. and Mrs. Posen. Tom rolls in not long after them with a present and a bouquet of flowers. Chloe finds herself anxiously pacing near the door waiting for Beca to arrive. Thankfully, no one else notices. They’re all too occupied by their small talk to be bothered.

She feels a rush of relief when Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell make their way through the door, Beca trailing reluctantly behind, rolling her eyes as her mother exchanges pleasantries with Aubrey’s mom. Chloe has to fight everything in herself not to laugh. 

“I was beginning to think that you weren’t gonna make it,” Chloe whispers into Beca’s ear as she pulls her in for a quick hug. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Beca supplies with a weak smile. “How’s Ginny holding up?”

“She’s beyond flattered everyone’s here to celebrate her,” Chloe replies with a quiet sigh. “I think she missed being social, even though it’s going to exhaust her and she’ll probably be in bed before nine.”

Beca nods in understanding.

“I don’t get it,” she admits with a chuckle. “I’m not sick and I hate having to interact with people like this.”

Chloe shakes her head in amusement.

“It’s different when you’re a part of a community for a long time,” she says tiredly. “Being the wife of a preacher means that you’re involved with everyone whether you like it or not, ‘specially being in the deep South. Mama’s marriage was a full-time job for her. To go from talking to multiple people all the time, to only me and sometimes, Daddy and Celia, if they’re around; that’s a big adjustment.”

Beca nods in slight understanding, the smile on her face quickly wiped away the minute Tom approaches them, placing his hands on Chloe’s shoulders.

“Rebecca,” Tom says with a forced smile, before planting a kiss on top of Chloe’s head. “I’m surprised to see you’re still in town.”

“Well, I’m not going away anytime soon,” Beca replies gruffly, fighting everything in her not to roll her eyes at him.

“I’m starting to think that you’re not going to be leaving, ever,” he admits playfully, a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

Beca lets out an amused laugh.

“You would all hate that, wouldn’t you?” she remarks rhetorically. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and wish Ginny a happy birthday.”

Tom waves her off, and Beca shoots Chloe an apologetic smile as she turns around and heads towards Mrs. Beale, who is speaking with WillaJean and her mother.

“Ah, Beca!” Ginny exclaims, her eyes lighting up once they land on Beca. Beca can’t help but smile as the woman brushes past her mother and Aubrey’s to give her a hug. “I’m so glad that you made it!”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Beca replies warmly. “You’ve been nothing short of kind to me, Ginny. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”

Ginny nods, turning back towards her mother and WillaJean, taking Beca’s arm and hooking it into your own.

“You got lucky with this one, Lottie,” Ginny insists, Beca biting back an amused grin as she watches her mother try to hold back her negativity. “She’s a good girl, your Beca. It’s a shame that she doesn’t come visit more often. I know that my Chloe will be missing her when she goes back off to California.”

She watches as her mother forces a smile, nodding in agreement.

“And we will miss her when she decides to head back, as well,” she musters weakly.

WillaJean doesn’t seem bothered. Beca’s never minded her; if anything, she’s just another ditzy blonde who parrots what her husband tells her to. Harrison takes after her in that way, constantly doing what other people tell him to. But Aubrey, she’s a loose canon; she is cold and calculated, just like her father.

“Now, Rebecca, what is it that you do out in California these days?” WillaJean asks, genuinely interested.

“I, uh, I’m in a band,” she admits embarrassedly, avoiding eye contact with her mother. “And tend bar. But my band’s been doing pretty good, so thankfully, I haven’t had to tend much bar these days.”

WillaJean just purses her lips, exchanging knowing glances with her mother. Ginny doesn’t notice, and if she does, she doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, Becs,” Chloe says from behind her. “Mind coming upstairs and helping me with something?”

The minute they get to the safety of Chloe’s room, the door half-cracked, Chloe’s lips are roughly attaching themselves to Beca’s, hands roaming wildly. Beca, though surprised, relaxes into the kiss, letting out a low moan. 

“What about-” Chloe cuts her off quickly by pushing her down onto her bed.

“We have about ten minutes.”

Beca immediately complies, her hands reaching for Chloe’s waist, sinking down to her knees. Chloe lets out a moan, which she quickly muffles with her own hand, as Beca gets to work. Both girls are so occupied with one another that they don’t notice a pair of green eyes belonging to one Aubrey Posen peering through the crack in the carelessly half-open door.

* * *

Dinner goes smoothly without a hitch. Though there is definitely tension between all parties, everyone manages to stuff it down with forced polite conversation, not wanting to upset the guest of honor on her special day; likely the very  _ last  _ birthday she will ever have. Almost _too_ smoothly.

“I think that it’s time for some cake!” Chloe beams as she gets up out of her chair, beckoning for Beca to follow. “Help me?”

“I think that Beca’s helped you enough,” Aubrey replies stiffly, exchanging knowing glances with Hattie.

Beca feels her stomach drop, and watches as Chloe’s face turns an ashy white.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aubrey,” Chloe plays dumb as she narrows her eyes at Aubrey, and then observes the reactions of the other guests, who are brimming with confusion. 

Her nerves betray her, and Beca knows what’s about to happen the minute she sees that familiar glint of cunning amusement in Hattie’s eyes. She wants nothing more than to run and drag Chloe out of the house, but it’s too late; they may as well accept their fate at this point.

“It sure seemed like it upstairs,” Aubrey continues matter-of-factly. “Do you need me to refresh your memory?”

She arches an eyebrow at Chloe challengingly, and Beca watches in awe as Chloe stands there, her reserve not yet broken. 

“Aubrey, what’s going on?” Jefferson questions his daughter curiously. “We know that you and Rebecca have never liked one another, but I don’t understand why you felt the need to drag your friend into it too.”

Hattie stifles amused laughter, shooting Beca a look of victory, mouthing ‘got ya’. 

“She’s not my  _ friend,  _ Daddy,” Aubrey insists sharply, disgusted gaze flickering back and forth between Beca and Chloe. “She’s like Beca.”

“Chloe, honey, what is she talking about?” Ginny asks worriedly. 

“It means that Chloe, like my dear,  _ sweet  _ baby sister, is a friendly little carpet muncher,” Hattie explains with a crooked grin. “We warned you not to hangout with her. It’s contagious, y’know. I prayed to the Lord for you every night, Chloe, but clearly, temptation has prevailed.”

“Is this true?” Chloe’s father finally says, his tone neutral as he looks at Chloe. 

“Daddy, I’m sorry, I-” Chloe begins, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes.

He lets out a long sigh of disappointment, shaking his head. Everyone else is shocked into silence, and Beca watches as Aubrey and Hattie just sit back to observe the mess that they’ve just created.

“Chloe, your reputation is at stake here!” They both watch as the reverend’s face turns bright red with anger, his fists clenched as he stands up from his seat. “You  _ know  _ that homosexuality is a sin! You know this! We raised you to be better than this, your mother and I! How dare you betray us, after everything we’ve done for you?”

Chloe is crying silently, and Beca wants nothing more than to pull her into a hug and hold her until the storm passes. But to do so right now would only make things worse. 

“And you,” he turns towards Beca. “How dare you come into our house? How dare you lay your hands on my daughter! She was normal before she ever met you, you perverted and disgusting-”

“Daddy, stop it!” Chloe shouts, interrupting him. He whips back around so that he is facing his daughter once again. “It’s not Beca’s fault.”

“How could it not be?” a voice that is not the reverend’s challenges. Chloe watches as Tom stands up from the dining room table, eyes blazing with a combination of fury and hurt. “You were perfectly normal before you ever met Rebecca Mitchell!”

“I’ve always been this way,” Chloe says quietly, casting her gaze downward towards the kitchen floor in shame. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been this way. There have been other girls before her. It was me who made the first move on Beca.”

She pauses, taking in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but this is not new, and it’s certainly no one’s fault but my own.”

“Bullshit,” Tom snaps, his tone harsh, eyes cold as he looks Chloe dead in the face. “I can’t do this anymore, Chloe. And honestly, I shouldn’t have to. I’m not going to marry a fucking  _ dyke _ . Don’t ever contact me again.”

Beca’s jaw drops as he leaves, just like that.

“Atticus, I don’t know if I can look at you the same again,” Jack says with a long sigh. “You promised me that this wouldn’t happen, that Rebecca was different, that she wasn’t like what people whispered about. You  _ lied _ to me.”

“It was wishful thinking on our part to think she'd changed,” her mother says bitterly, casting a displeased glance in Beca’s direction. “If I would’ve known you would’ve been this much trouble, I would’ve ended the pregnancy to spare myself the pain of raising you.”

The words sting, but they aren’t unexpected. Beca’s not sure why she’s still surprised. 

“Lottie,” her father says calmly. “Not in front of the others.”

“Why should it matter, Atticus?” her mother snaps irritatedly. “Rebecca  _ clearly  _ doesn’t carry the same respect for us considering this wonderful display of disgrace in front of our friends! Why should I respect her when she hasn’t bothered to do so in years? Think of our reputation!”

“Jesus Christ!” Beca exclaims, everyone falling silent. She thinks to mumble a brief apology for the use of her language, especially in the presence of the reverend (though, honestly, she doesn’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks, not after the way he treated his own daughter). “Can you all just stop and listen to yourselves?”

The silence resounds around the room, everyone watching her expectantly.

“It’s 2020, for crying out loud! The courts declared  _ five years ago  _ that same-sex couples had the right to marry. It’s a fucking  _ normal  _ thing to love somebody,” she continues sharply, gaze flickering between all of them. “What’s  _ not  _ okay, is to be dicks about it, and only worry about how it’s affecting you. How do you think we feel? Do you not understand how  _ hard  _ it is to know that the people you care about would hate you if they knew the truth about you? It fucking hurts to carry that weight around all the time, to hide that.

“Frankly, I made my peace with that seven years ago when you let them slander me publically, but seriously? To take it out on Chloe? She is the kindest person I’ve ever met in my life, and the fact that all of you claim to care about her, and then do this? Fucking unbelievable.”

Reverend Beale just shakes his head in disappointment, and Beca watches as Chloe lets out a strangled sob before bringing her hand up to her mouth.

“Get out of my house,” he mutters calmly. “I can’t look at you right now.”

And before Beca can comprehend what’s happening, she watches as Chloe bolts out the front door.


	15. you didn’t come with directions, but somehow we find perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to thank all of you for being a part of this journey with me. the fact that so many people took the time to read and enjoy this fic in these past few months means the world to me. from the bottom of my heart, i am beyond flattered for everyone's kind words. i honestly wasn't sure if i had it in me to write a multi-chapter fic and finish it, but here we are. i hope that this ending is satisfactory for everyone.
> 
> a lot of people have been reaching out and asking me what's next, and to be honest, i'm not quite sure. i will definitely continue to release work, and i have a few projects in mind that i would love to share with you all, but i can't say for sure when they'll all be released. it kind of just depends on my energy/willingness to write. all i can say is keep an eye out! 
> 
> i'm also tenatively looking for a beta because i make a lot of grammar errors and honestly it wouldn't kill me to have another pair of eyes looking at my stuff. i'm an english major, so it kills me to see any kind of errors in my own work. so if you're interested in that sort of thing, shoot me a message :)
> 
> once again, thank you. enjoy!  
> all the best, 
> 
> wonderstruck <3

The party is ruined, and everyone quickly makes up excuses to leave. Reverend Beale has already stormed off to his at-home study just seconds after Chloe’s departure, and in a matter of minutes, it’s just her and Ginny Beale sitting at the dinner table.

“Sorry for ruining your party, Mrs. Beale,” Beca apologizes quietly, unable to make eye contact with her. 

Ginny lets out a quiet laugh. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Beca,” she assures her softly. “Aubrey should’ve known better than to start something like that.”

“Clearly, you don’t know Aubrey as well as I do,” Beca mutters. “She’s only been trying to make my life miserable for as long as I can remember. She  _ hates  _ me.”

“I can see that,” Ginny muses knowingly. 

“You aren’t mad,” Beca observes curiously, finally studying the woman sitting a few chairs down from her. She's never realized how much Chloe looks like her mother until now. Even with her fragile state and sallow skin, she recognizes the same features in Chloe; her nose, her baby blues, the shape of her face. 

Ginny shakes her head, pulling Beca from her thoughts. 

“Despite popular belief, not all preacher’s wives believe everything that their husband does,” she admits politely, turning around behind her as though to check and make sure that her husband wasn't there. “Who am I to judge? We’re all sinners. Why would I be angry at Chloe for being the way that God made her?”

“I wish my parents would’ve been as understanding,” Beca replies with a frown. “Chloe’s lucky to have a mom like you, you know.”

“Chloe’s been the light of my life from the minute I held her in my arms in the hospital,” Mrs. Beale continues with a long sigh, a sad smile crossing her face. “All I’ve ever wanted was for her to be happy, and now, I get to die knowing that my daughter is happy and loved. That’s all a mother could ever want for her child. That's all I've ever wanted for both of my girls.”

“Mrs. Beale-”

“You’re a good person, Beca Mitchell. Don’t let anything anyone else has to say about you cloud your judgments. There is no fault in loving another person, perhaps that is the greatest strength that God could ever give us.”

Beca feels the tears running hot down her cheeks as Mrs. Beale stands up and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“Take good care of my Chloe,” she says softly. “She’s going to need it when I’m gone.”

The smell of her perfume lingers long after she weakly trods down the back hallway towards her bedroom, as Beca sits there in silence, letting Ginny's words, no, Ginny's _blessing_ sink in.

_ Take good care of my Chloe. _

* * *

The words replay over and over again in Beca’s head as she’s driving the truck in the dark, cursing the dimly lit backroads. She's become accustomed to the lit up streets of Los Angeles, streets always crowded with cars and sidewalks crowded with people with more personalities than she has friends. She tries all of their places, even Helena’s, but with no luck. Her last hope is checking the church.

She lets out a sigh of relief when she notices the light on the church, and quickly parks the truck towards the front before approaching the double doors. She's honestly not sure why she didn't try here first. Chloe, as much as she is her own entity, carries her faith with pride, in spite of the fact that it is the reason that she is at war with herself. This is something that Beca will never understand, but loving Chloe means loving all parts of Chloe.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she hears Chloe whisper, watching in awe as she kneels at the front of the church, the soft lighting surrounding her. She looks angelic, sitting there in the light, as though she is some beautiful, celestial being, and Beca can't help but be in awe of her. 

Her eyes glance around the church out of habit. It’s in this church that they first met, three months ago at her grandmother’s funeral. It’s in this church that she realized that she was falling in love with Chloe for the first time. It only seems appropriate that this moment will happen here too.

She quietly shuffles down the aisles, sitting down in the front line of pews as she respectfully waits for Chloe to finish praying. Her eyes are squeezed shut as she kneels on the floor, hands clasped together in prayer, silent tears trickling down her cheeks. Beca's heart breaks for her, as she hopes that this helps Chloe come to whatever resolution she wants it to. She shudders, recalling the hurt on Chloe's face just an hour before.  


This is what separates them. Beca has always been different. Beca has lost the only family she ever relied on, the only family whose opinions mattered to her. Those that remain in her life treat her the way they always have. But Chloe. Chloe adores her family. Chloe would do _anything_ for them, and she already _has_. She's put her life on hold for them. To lose that, Beca simply cannot imagine because it doesn't equate to anything she's ever held in her lifetime, not even with Beau. 

After some time passes, Chloe’s eyes finally flutter open, landing on Beca’s in surprise.

“You followed me,” she says breathlessly, awestruck as though she cannot believe that Beca is actually there. 

She stands from her kneeling place to take a seat beside Beca in the pew.

“Of course I followed you,” Beca reassures her, taking Chloe’s shaking hand in her own. “I would follow you anywhere, Chloe Beale.”

Chloe smiles, though she is still crying, and Beca feels at ease, knowing that  _ she  _ did that, that  _ she  _ managed to make Chloe smile through all of this.

“My entire life, all I’ve done is try to please everyone else. I’ve put everyone else before me,” Chloe begins with a deep sigh. “I was a good girl growing up to please my daddy, the perfect little preacher’s daughter. Whenever we had to move every couple of years, I always grinned and beared it for him, even though it meant I would have to make new friends. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel bad.”

“And when I went away to college, for the first time in my life, I got to live for _myself_. I made my own decisions. I made friends that I wouldn’t have to leave in a few months. I went out and explored outside of the tiny bubble that I grew up in. I got to figure out what I liked, what I didn’t. For the first time, I was completely in control.”

She watches as Chloe swallows hard, and she squeezes her hand tighter in reassurance, knowing exactly what’s about to come next.

“I cried the first time I had sex with a girl. It was just drunk experimenting, but I knew the minute it happened that there was more to it than that,” she says with a melancholy smile. “I cried because I knew I could never be that person. I could never disappoint my parents like that. How could I disappoint God? My entire life, all I heard was that homosexuals, people like me, were dirty sinners. It took me months to realize that it was the opposite of that, that God created me, and God loves me. I was happy with myself, finally, once my last year of college rolled around. My friends accepted me, and that was all that mattered. It’s not like I was going to be living at home again, anyways.

“And then Mama got her diagnosis. My entire life was put on hold again. I turned down a job opportunity of a lifetime to come back home because I couldn’t live with myself to not be with her while she was sick. She needed me. My stuff would have to wait. So I came home for them.”

“Chloe-”

“My entire life, all I’ve ever done is compromise for everyone else. It’s always been about what other people wanted, never what I wanted. And all for what? They hate me, Beca. After everything I’ve given up for them, they can’t overlook one, tiny thing about me. Isn’t that sad?”

“Come to California with me.”

The words feel natural escaping from her mouth, and she watches Chloe’s eyes widen with surprise.

“What?” Chloe asks, clearly shocked.

“Come to California with me,” Beca repeats steadily. “If we leave within the hour, we can make it to the airport in time to catch the next flight out. You can get a job at a hospital and help people, just like you’ve always wanted. We can live together in my crowded apartment with my crazy friends, and be happy together in a place where people won’t think twice if we kiss or hold hands.”

“Beca, I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say ‘yes’,” Beca urges her. “I love you, Chloe. I'm _in_ love with you. In the time I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve wanted nothing more than to see you happy, and you’re not happy here.”

“But what about Mama?” Chloe says in a whisper. “I can’t leave her behind. Not when she’s so close to the end. I could never forgive myself.”

“She loves you, Chloe. More than you could ever know,” Beca assures Chloe gently, smiling fondly at the memory of the conversation between her and Ginny Beale at the dinner table. “The only thing she wants is to see you happy. She told me so, after everyone left. She wants you to be free.”

Chloe shakes her head in disbelief, almost as though she can’t wrap her mind around what Beca has just said.

“But what about your stuff back at Mitchell Manor?”

Beca scoffs.

“I never bring anything important home,” she confesses with an amused laugh. “I’ve been expecting something to be largely blown out of proportions the minute I came back into town for Grandmother's funeral; it always happens whenever I’m involved. My family kind of hates me. I’ll be surprised if they don’t write me out of the will, but honestly, I don’t care. My grandmother wrote me, you know, a few weeks before she died. She left me fifty percent of her estate.”

Chloe’s jaw drops.

“Wow, Beca, that’s-”

“Insane, yes. And an obscene amount of money for one person,” Beca finishes with a chuckle. “But not surprising. I always was her favorite. She always would tell me I reminded her of her younger self.”

“I bet that really pissed the rest of your family off,” Chloe replies mischievously. 

Beca shrugs.

“They don’t know how much I got. Grandmother stipulated in her will that everyone written in the will would only hear what they inherited. They’re under the assumption that she donated most of it out of spite. She always did hate my parents,” she laughs. “The point is, I have everything that I need. As long as I have you, it doesn’t really matter.”

There’s a prolonged pause of silence between them as they sit there, in the same pew they did all those weeks ago, that first Sunday service that Beca grudgingly agreed to go to. 

“Let’s do it.”

* * *

_ Mama, Daddy, and Celia, _

_ By the time you get this letter, I will be across the country, starting my new life. I’m writing to you to say goodbye, and wish you all the best. In spite of everything that has happened, I want you to know that I will always love you, and that I forgive you.  _

_ Romans 5:8 “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” God created us all equal, and I hope that one day you can accept me for who I am, and realize that I am the same daughter that you have loved for twenty-three years.  _

_ But I also understand that that may not happen, and for that, I am sorry, for all of the big things that you will miss in my lifetime. All I ever wanted was to be someone that you could be proud of, but I am done sacrificing myself at your expense.  _

_ I’ll leave you with this. _

_ 1: Peter 3:8 “Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble.” _

_ All My Love, _

_ Chloe _

* * *

_ “Please buckle your seatbelts for the duration of the flight. We will be landing at Los Angeles International Airport shortly,”  _ the voice over the intercom exclaims.

Chloe feels Beca squeeze her hand as she stares out the window, looking out at the world laid out before her. It is dark outside, and all she can see are the markings and fluorescent lights along the landing strip, but it is beautiful to her. It signifies a whole new beginning, a fresh start to finally be herself.

She pulls herself away and turns to Beca, who is watching her contentedly. Beca, who she’s only known for three months, but loves so fiercely that its invigorating and terrifying at the same time. Beca, who convinced her to hop on a plane and never look back with nothing but the clothes on their back. 

“I love you, Beca Mitchell,” she hums thoughtfully, pressing a gentle kiss to Beca’s lips, her heart pounding wildly at how freeing it is to express this publicly. Her eyes dart around the plane to see if anyone is staring, but no one is. Everyone is preparing for the plane to land and gathering their things. 

“I love you, too,” Beca replies as if it’s the most easy thing she’s ever said. 

_ “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Los Angeles International Airport. The local time is 10:37 p.m. It’s currently 87 degrees outside. On behalf of American Airlines and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice evening!” _

They excite the plane together, Beca’s fingers neatly intertwined with Chloe’s as they step into the airport, bustling with life.

“Ready?” Beca asks her.

Chloe nods.

“I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.”


End file.
